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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 

































MRS. KENDALL PLACED IN HER HANDS A GREAT RED ROSE.” 


The T urn of the Tide 

The Story of How ^Margaret 
Solved Her Problem 


BY 

ELEANOR H. PORTER 

M 

Author of u Cross Currents ” 

ILLUSTRATED BY 
FRANK T. MERRILL 



W. A. WILDE COMPANY 

BOSTON CHICAGO 











ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

“ Mrs. Kendall placed in her hands a great red 

rose ” Frontispiece 13 

“ For a time Margaret regarded him with troubled 

eyes ” 66 

‘‘A mob of small boys had found an object upon 

which to vent their wildest mischief ” . . 158 

“ Margaret crossed the room and touched the man’s 

shoulder” 244 








The Turn of the Tide 


CHAPTER I 

M ARGARET had been home two hours — 
two hours of breathless questions, an- 
swers, tears, and laughter — two hours 
of delighted wandering about the house and 
grounds. 

In the nursery she had seen the little woolly 
dog that lay on the floor just as she had left it 
five years before ; and out on the veranda steps 
she had seen the great stone lions that had never 
quite faded from her memory. And always at 
her side had walked the sweet-faced lady of her 
dreams, only now the lady was very real, with 
eyes that smiled on one so lovingly, and lips and 
hands that kissed and caressed one so tenderly. 

“ And this is home — my home ? ” Margaret 
asked in unbelieving wonder. 

“ Yes, dear,” answered Mrs. Kendall. 


9 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ And you are my mother, and I am Margaret 
Kendall, your little girl ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“And the little dog on the floor — that was 
mine, and — and it's been there ever since ? ” 

“Yes, ever since you left it there long ago. I 
— I could not bear to have any one move it, or 
touch it.” 

“ And I was lost then — right then ? ” 

“ No, dear. We traveled about for almost a 
year. You were five when I lost you.” Mrs. 
Kendall’s voice shook. Unconsciously she drew 
Margaret into a closer embrace. Even now she 
was scarcely sure that it was Margaret — this little 
maid who had stepped so suddenly out of the 
great silence that had closed about her four long 
years before. 

Margaret laughed softly, and nestled in the 
encircling arms. 

“I like it — this,” she confided shyly. “You 
see, I — I hain’t had it before. Even the dream- 
lady didn’t do — this.” 

“The dream-lady ? ” 

Margaret hesitated. Her grave eyes were on 
her mother’s face. 

IO 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ I suppose she was — you,” she said then slowly. 
“ I saw her nights, mostly ; but she never stayed, 
and when I tried to catch her, she — she was just 
air — and wasn’t there at all. And I did want her 
so bad ! ” 

“ Of course you did, sweetheart,” choked Mrs. 
Kendall, tremulously. “ And didn’t she ever stay? 
When was it you saw her — first?” 

Margaret frowned. 

“ I — don’t — seem — to know,” she answered. 
She was thinking of what Dr. Spencer had told 
her, and of what she herself remembered of those 
four years of her life. “You see first I was lost, 
and Bobby McGinnis found me. Anyhow, Dr. 
Spencer says he did, but I don’t seem to remem- 
ber. Things was all mixed up. There didn’t 
seem to be anybody that wanted me, but there 
wouldn’t anybody let me go. And they made 
me sew all the time on things that was big and 
homely, and then another man took me and made 
me paste up bags. Say, did you ever paste bags ? ” 

“ No, dear.” Mrs. Kendall shivered. 

“ Well, you don’t want to,” volunteered Marga- 
ret ; and to her thin little face came the look that 
her mother had already seen on it once or twice 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


that afternoon — the look of a child who knows 
what it means to fight for life itself in the slums of 
a great city. “ They ain’t a mite nice — bags ain’t ; 
and the paste sticks horrid, and smells.” 

“ Margaret, dearest ! — how could you bear it?” 
shuddered Mrs. Kendall, her eyes brimming with 
tears. 

Margaret saw the tears, and understood — this 
tender, new-found mother of hers was grieved ; 
she must be comforted. To the best of her ability, 
therefore, Margaret promptly proceeded to ad- 
minister that comfort. 

“ Pooh ! ’twa’n’t nothin’,” she asserted stoutly ; 
“ besides, I runned away, and then I had a tiptop 
place — a whole corner of Mis’ Whalen’s kitchen, 
and jest me and Patty and the twins to stay in it. 
We divvied up everythin’, and some days we had 
heaps to eat — truly we did — heaps 1 And I went 
to Mont-Lawn two times, and of course there I 
had everythin’, even beds with sheets, you know ; 
and ” 

“ Margaret, Margaret, don’t, dear ! ” interrupted 
her mother. “ I can’t bear even to think of it.” 

Margaret’s eyes grew puzzled. 

“ But that was bang-up — all of it,” she pro- 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


tested earnestly. “ Why, I didn’t paste bags nor 
sew buttons, and nobody didn’t strike me for not 
doin’ ’em, neither; and Mis’ Whalen was good 
and showed me how to make flowers — for pay, 
too! And ” 

“ Yes, dear, I know,” interposed Mrs. Kendall 
again ; “ but suppose we don’t think any more of 
all that, sweetheart. You are home now, darling, 
right here with mother. Come, we will go out 
into the garden.” To Mrs. Kendall it seemed at 
the moment that only God’s blessed out-of-doors 
was wide enough and beautiful enough to clear 
from her eyes the pictures Margaret’s words had 
painted. 

Out in the garden Margaret drew a long breath. 

“ Oh ! ” she cooed softly, caressing with her 
cheek a great red rose, “ I knew flowers smelled 
good, but I didn’t find it out for sure till I went to 
Mont-Lawn that first time. You see the kind we 
made was cloth and stiff, and they didn’t smell 
good a mite — oh, you’ve picked it!” she broke 
off, half-rapturously, half -regretfully, as Mrs. Ken- 
dall placed in her hands the great red rose. 

“Yes, pick all you like, dear,” smiled Mrs. 
Kendall, reaching for another flower. 

r 3 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ But they’ll die,” stammered Margaret, “ and 
then the others won’t see them.” 

“ The — ‘ others ’ ? What others, dear ? ” 

“ Why, the other folks that live here, you know, 
and walk out here, too.” 

Mrs. Kendall laughed merrily. 

“ But there aren’t any others, dear. The flowers 
are all ours. No one else lives here.” 

Margaret stopped short in the garden path and 
faced her mother. 

“ What, not any one ? in all that big house ? ” 

“Why, no, dear, of course not. There is no 
one except old Mr. and Mrs. Barrett who keep the 
house and grounds in order. We have it all to 
ourselves.” 

Margaret was silent. She turned and walked 
slowly along the path at her mother’s side. On 
her face was a puzzled questioning. To her eyes 
was gradually coming a frightened doubt. 

Alone ? — just they two, with the little old man 
and the little old woman in the kitchen who did 
not take up any room at all ? Why, back in the 
Alley there were Patty, the twins, and all the 
Whalens — and they had only one room ! It was 
like that, too, everywhere, all through the Alley — 


14 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


so many, many people, so little room for them. 
Yet here — here was this great house all windows 
and doors and soft carpets and pretty pictures, 
and only two, three, four people to enjoy it all. 
Why had not her mother asked 

Even to herself Margaret could not say the 
words. She shut her lips tight and threw a 
hurried look into the face of the woman at her 
side. This dear dream-lady, this beautiful new 
mother — as if there could be any question of her 
goodness and kindness ! Very likely, anyway, 
there were not any poor 

Margaret’s eyes cleared suddenly. She turned 
a radiant face on her mother. 

“ Oh, I know,” she cried in triumph. “ There 
ain’t any poor folks here, and so you couldn’t do 
it!” 

Mrs. Kendall looked puzzled. 

“ ‘ Poor folks ’ ? ‘ Couldn’t do it ’ ? ” she ques- 

tioned. 

“ Yes ; poor folks like Patty and the Whalens, 
and so you couldn’t ask ’em to live with you.” 

Mrs. Kendall sat down abruptly. Near her was 
a garden settee. She felt particularly glad of its 
support just then. 

!5 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“And of course you didn’t know about the 
Whalens and Patty,” went on Margaret, eagerly, 
“ and so you couldn’t ask them, neither. But you 
do now, and they’d just love to come, I know ! ” 

“ Love to — to come ? ” stammered Mrs. Ken- 
dall, gazing blankly into the glowing young face 
before her. 

“ Of course they would ! ” nodded Margaret, 
dancing up and down and clapping her hands. 
“ Wouldn’t you if you didn’t have nothin’ but a 
room right down under the sidewalk, and there 
was such a heap of folks in it ? Why, here there’s 
everythin’ — everythin' for ’em, and oh, I’m so 
glad, ’cause they was good to me — so good ! 
First Mis’ Whalen took in Patty and the twins 
when the rent man dumped ’em out on the side- 
walk, and she gave ’em a whole corner of her 
kitchen. And then when I runned away from the 
bag-pasting, Patty and the twins took me in. 
And now I can pay ’em back for it all — I can pay 
’em back. I’m so glad ! ” 

Mrs. Kendall fell back limply against the gar- 
den seat. Twice she opened her lips — and closed 
them again. Her face flushed, then paled, and her 
hands grew cold in her lap. 

1 6 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


This dancing little maid with the sunlit hair 
and the astounding proposition to adopt into their 
home two whole families from the slums of New 
York, was Margaret, her own little Margaret, lost 
so long ago, and now so miraculously restored to 
her. As if she could refuse any request, however 
wild, from Margaret ! But this — ! 

“ But, sweetheart, perhaps they — they wouldn’t 
want to go away forever and leave their home,” 
she remonstrated at last, feebly. 

The child frowned, her finger to her lips. 

“ Well, anyhow, we can ask them,” she de- 
clared, after a minute, her face clearing. 

“ Suppose we — we make it a visit, first,” sug- 
gested Mrs. Kendall, feverishly. “ By and by, 
after I’ve had you all to myself for a little while, 
you shall ask them to — to visit you.” 

“ O bully ! ” agreed Margaret in swift delight. 
“That will be nicest; won’t it? Then they can 
see how they like it — but there ! they’ll like it all 
right. They couldn’t help it.” 

“ And how — how many are there ? ” questioned 
Mrs. Kendall, moistening her dry lips, and feeling 
profoundly thankful for even this respite from the 
proposed wholesale adoption. 

17 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ Why, let’s see.” Margaret held up her fingers 
and checked off her prospective guests. “There’s 
Patty, she’s the oldest, and Arabella and Clara- 
bella — they’re the twins an’ they’re my age, you 
know — that’s the Murphys. And then there’s all 
the Whalens : Tom, Peter, Mary, Jamie, and — oh, 
I dunno, six or eight, maybe, with Mis’ Whalen 
and her husband. But, after all, it don’t make so 
very much diff’rence just how many there are ; 
does it ? ” she added, wdth a happy little skip and 
jump, “ ’cause there’s heaps of room here for any 
’mount of ’em. And I never can remember just 
how many there are wdthout forgettin’ some of 
’em. You — you don’t mind if I don’t name ’em 
all — now?” And she gazed earnestly into her 
mother’s face. 

“ No, dear, no,” assured Mrs. Kendall, hur- 
riedly. “You — you have named quite enough. 
And now we’ll go down to the brook. We haven’t 
seen half of Five Oaks yet.” And once more she 
tried to make the joyous present drive from her 
daughter’s thoughts the grievous past. 


18 


CHAPTER II 


I T was not long before all Houghtonsville 
knew the story, and there was not a man, 
woman, or child in the town that did not 
take the liveliest interest in the little maid at Five 
Oaks who had passed through so amazing an 
experience. To be lost at five years of age in a 
great city, to be snatched from wealth, happiness, 
and a loving mother’s arms, only to be thrust 
instantly into poverty, misery, and loneliness ; and 
then to be, after four long years, suddenly re- 
turned — no wonder Houghtonsville held its breath 
and questioned if it all indeed were true. 

Bit by bit the little girl’s history was related in 
every house in town ; and many a woman — and 
some men — wept over the tale of how the little 
fingers had sewed on buttons in the attic sweat 
shop, and pasted bags in the ill-smelling cellar. 
The story of the cooperative housekeeping estab- 
lishment in one corner of the basement kitchen, 
where she, together with Patty and the twins, 
19 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“divvied up” the day’s “haul,” — that, too, came 
in for its share of exclamatory adjectives, as did 
the account of how she was finally discovered 
through her finding her own name over the little 
cot-bed at Mont- Lawn — the little bed that Mrs. 
Kendall had endowed in the name of her lost 
daughter, in the children’s vacation home for the 
poor little waifs from the city. 

“An’ ter think of her findin’ her own baby jest 
by givin’ some other woman’s baby a bit of joy ! ” 
cried Mrs. Merton of the old red farmhouse, when 
the story was told to her. “ But, there ! ain’t that 
what she’s always doin’ for folks — somethin’ ter 
make ’em happy? Didn’t she bring my own 
child, Sadie, an’ the boy, Bobby, back from the 
city, and ain’t Sadie gettin’ well an’ strong on the 
farm here ? And it’s a comfort ter me, too, when 
I remember ’twas Bobby who first found the little 
Margaret cry in’ in the streets there in New York, 
an’ took her home ter my Sadie. ’Twa’n’t much 
Sadie could do for the poor little lamb, but 
she did what she could till old Sullivan got his 
claws on her and kept her shut up out o’ sight. 
But there ! what’s past is past, and there ain’t no 
use frettin’ over it. She’s home now, in her own 


20 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


mother’s arms, and I’m thinkin’ it’s the whole 
town that’s rejoicin’ ! ” 

And the whole town did rejoice — and many 
and various were the ways the townspeople took 
to show it. The Houghtonsville brass band 
marched in full uniform to Five Oaks one even- 
ing and gave a serenade with red fire and rock- 
ets, much to Mrs. Kendall’s embarrassment and 
Margaret’s delight. The Ladies’ Aid Society 
gave a tea with Mrs. Kendall and Margaret as a 
kind of pivot around which the entire affair re- 
volved — this time to the embarrassment of both 
Mrs. Kendall and her daughter. The minister of 
the Methodist church appointed a day of prayer 
and thanksgiving in commemoration of the home- 
coming of the wanderer ; and the town poet pub- 
lished in the Houghtonsville Banner a forty-eight- 
line poem on “ The Lost and Found.” 

Nor was this all. To Mrs. Kendall it seemed 
that almost every man, woman, and child in the 
place came to her door with inquiries and con- 
gratulations, together with all sorts of offerings, 
from flowers and frosted cakes to tidies and 
worked bedspreads. She was not ungrateful, 
certainly, but she was overwhelmed. 


21 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


Not only the cakes and the tidies, however, 
gave Mrs. Kendall food for thought during those 
first few days after Margaret’s return. From the 
very nature of the case it was, of necessity, a 
period of adjustment ; and to Mrs. Kendall’s con- 
sternation there was every indication of friction, 
if not disaster. 

For four years now her young daughter had 
been away from her tender care and influence ; 
and for only one of those four years — the last — 
had she come under the influence of any sort of 
refinement or culture, and then under only such 
as a city missionary and an overworked school- 
teacher could afford, supplemented by the two 
trips to Mont- Lawn. To be sure, behind it all 
had been Margaret’s careful training for the first 
five years of her life, and it was because of this 
training that she had so quickly yielded to what 
good influences she had known in the last year. 
The Alley, however, was not Five Oaks ; and the 
standards of one did not measure to those of the 
other. It was not easy for “ Mag of the Alley ” 
to become at once Margaret Kendall, the dainty 
little daughter of a well-bred, fastidious mother. 

To the doctor — the doctor who had gone to 


22 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


New York and brought Margaret home, and who 
knew her as she was — Mrs. Kendall went for advice. 

“ What shall I do ? ” she asked anxiously. “ A 
hundred times a day the dear child’s speech, 
movements, and actions are not what I like them 
to be. And yet — if I correct each one, ’twill be a 
continual ‘ don’t ’ all day. Why, doctor, the 
child will — hate me ! ” 

“ As if any one could do that ! ” smiled the 
doctor ; and at the look in his eyes Mrs. Kendall 
dropped her own — the happiness that had come 
to her with this man’s love was very new ; she 
had scarcely yet looked it squarely in the face. 

“ The child is so good and loving,” she went 
on a little hurriedly, “that it makes it all the 
harder — but I must do something. Only this 
morning she told the minister that she thought 
Houghtonsville was a ‘ bully place,' and that the 
people were ‘tiptop.’ Her table manners — poor 
child ! I ran away from the table and cried like a 
baby the first time I saw her eat ; and yet — perhaps 
the very next thing she does will be so dainty and 
sweet that I could declare the other was all a 
dream. Doctor, what shall I do ? ” 

“ I know, I know,” nodded the man. “ I have 


23 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


seen it myself. But, dear, she’ll learn — she’ll 
learn wonderfully fast. You’ll see. It’s in her — 
the gentleness and the refinement. She’ll have 
to be corrected, some, of course ; it’s out of the 
question that she shouldn’t be. But she’ll come 
out straight. Her heart is all right.” 

Mrs. Kendall laughed softly. 

“ Her heart, doctor ! ” she exclaimed. “ Just 
there lies the greatest problem of all. The one 
creed of her life is to ‘ divvy up,’ and how I’m 
going to teach her ordinary ideas of living with- 
out shattering all her faith in me I don’t know. 
Why, Harry,” — Mrs. Kendall’s voice was tragic — 
“ she gazes at me with round eyes of horror be- 
cause I have two coats and two hats, and two 
loaves of bread, and haven’t yet ‘ divvied up ’ 
with some one who has none. So far her horror 
is tempered by the fact that she is sure I didn’t 
know before that there were any people who did 
not have all these things. Now that she has told 
me of them, she confidently looks to me to do my 
obvious duty at once.” 

The doctor laughed. 

“ As if you weren’t always doing things for peo- 
ple,” he said fondly. Then he grew suddenly 
24 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


grave. “ The dear child ! Em afraid that along 
with her education and civilization her altruism 
will get a few hard knocks. But — she’ll get over 
that, too. You’ll see. At heart she’s so gentle 
and — why, what ” — he broke off with an un- 
spoken question, his eyes widely opened at the 
change that had come to her face. 

“ Oh, nothing,” returned Mrs. Kendall, almost 
despairingly, “ only if you’d seen Joe Bagley yes- 
terday morning I’m afraid you’d have changed 
your opinion of her gentleness. She — she fought 
him ! ” Mrs. Kendall stumbled over the words, 
and flushed a painful red as she spoke them. 

“ Fought him — Joe Bagley! ” gasped the doctor. 
“ Why, he’s almost twice her size.” 

“ Yes, I know, but that didn’t seem to occur to 
Margaret,” returned Mrs. Kendall. “She saw 
only the kitten he was tormenting, and — well, she 
rescued the kitten, and then administered what 
she deemed to be fit punishment there and then. 
When I arrived on the scene they were the center 
of an admiring crowd of children,” — Mrs. Kendall 
shivered visibly — “ and Margaret was just deliver- 
ing herself of a final blow that sent the great bully 
off blubbering.” 


25 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

“ Good for her ! ” — it was an involuntary tribute, 
straight from the heart. 

“ Harry ! ” gasped Mrs. Kendall. “ * Good ’ — a 
delicate girl 1 ” 

“No, no, of course not,” murmured the doctor, 
hastily, though his eyes still glowed. “ It won’t 
do, of course ; but you must remember her life, 
her struggle for very existence all those years. 
She had to train her fists to fight her way.” 

“ I — I suppose so,” admitted Mrs. Kendall, 
faintly ; but she shivered again, as if with a sud- 
den chill. 


26 


CHAPTER III 


S CARCELY had Houghtonsville recovered 
from its first shock of glad surprise at Mar- 
garet’s safe return, when it was shaken 
again to its very center by the news of Mrs. Ken- 
dall’s engagement to Dr. Spencer. 

The old Kendall estate had been for more than a 
generation the “ show place ” of the town. Even 
during the years immediately following the loss 
of little Margaret, when the great stone lions on 
each side of the steps had kept guard over closed 
doors and shuttered windows, even then the place 
was pointed out to strangers for its beauty, as 
well as for the tragedy that had so recently made it 
a living tomb to its mistress. Sometimes, though 
not often, a glimpse might be caught of a slender, 
black-robed woman, and always there could be 
seen the one unshuttered window on the second 
floor. Every one knew the story of that window, 
and of the sunlit room beyond where lay the little 
woolly dog just as the baby hands had dropped 
27 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


it there years before ; and every one knew that 
the black-robed woman, widow of Frank Kendall 
and mother of the lost little girl, was grieving her 
heart out in the great lonely house. 

Not until the last two years of Margaret’s ab- 
sence had there come a change, and then it was 
so gradual that the townspeople scarcely noticed it. 
Little by little, however, the air of gloom left the 
house. One by one the blinds were thrown open 
to the sunlight, and more and more frequently 
Mrs. Kendall was seen walking in the garden, or 
even upon the street. Not until the news of the 
engagement had come, however, did Hough tons- 
ville people realize the doctor’s part in all this. 
Then they understood. It was he who had admin- 
istered to her diseased body, and still more dis- 
eased mind ; he who had roused her from her 
apathy of despair ; and he who had taught her 
that the world was full of other griefs even as bit- 
ter as her own. 

Not twenty-four hours after the news of the 
engagement became public property, old Nathan 
— town gossip, and driver-in-chief to a generation 
of physicians, Dr. Spencer included — observed 
triumphantly : 


28 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“And I ain’t a mite surprised, neither. It’s a 
good thing, too. They’re jest suited ter each 
other. Ain’t they been traipsin’ all over town 
tergether, an’ ridin’ whar ’twas too fur ter foot it ? 
. . . Ter be sure, they allers went ter some 

one’s that was sick, an’ allers took jellies an’ 
things ter eat an’ read, but I had eyes, an’ I ain’t 
a fool. She done good, though — heaps of it ; an’ 
’tain’t no wonder the doctor fell head over heels 
in love with her. . . . An’ thar was the 

little gal, too. Didn’t he go twice ter New York 
a-huntin’ fur her, an’ wa’n’t it through him that 
they finally got her? ’Course ’twas. ’Twas him 
that told Mis’ Kendall ’bout that ’ere Mont-Lawn 
whar they sends them poor little city kids ter get 
a breath o’ fresh air ; an’ ’twas him that sent on 
the twenty-one dollars for her, so’s she could 
name a bed fur little Margaret ; an’ ’twas him 
that at last went ter New York an’ fetched her 
home. Gorry, ’twas allers him. Thar wa’n’t no 
way out of it, I say. They jest had ter get 
engaged ! ” 

It was not long before the most of Houghtons- 
ville — in sentiment, if not in words — came to old 
Nathan’s opinion : this prospective marriage was 
29 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


an ideal arrangement, after all, and not in the 
least surprising. There remained now only the 
pleasant task of making the wedding a joyful 
affair befitting the traditions of the town and of 
the honored name of Kendall. 

In all Houghtonsville, perhaps, there was only 
one heart that did not beat in sympathy, and that 
one, strangely enough, belonged to Mrs. Kendall's 
own daughter, Margaret. 

“You mean you are goin’ to marry him, and 
that he’ll be your husband for — for keeps ? ” Mar- 
garet demanded with some agitation, when her 
mother told her of the engagement. 

Mrs. Kendall smiled. The red mounted to her 
cheek. 

“Yes, dear,” she said. 

“And he’ll live here — with us?” Margaret’s 
voice was growing in horror. 

“ Why, yes, dear,” murmured Mrs. Kendall ; 
then, quizzically : “ Why, sweetheart, what’s the 
matter? Don’t you like Dr. Spencer? It was 
only last week that you were begging me to ask 
some one here to live with us.” 

Margaret frowned anxiously. 

“ But, mother, dear, that was poor folks,” she 

30 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


explained, her eyes troubled. “ Dr. Spencer ain’t 
that kind, you know. You — you said he’d be a 
husband.” 

“ Yes?” 

“ And — and husbands — mother ! ” broke off the 
little girl, her voice sharp with anguished love 
and terror. “ He sha’n’t come here to beat you 
and bang you ’round — he just sha’n’t ! ” 

“ Beat me ! ” gasped Mrs. Kendall. “ Mar- 
garet, what in the world are you thinking of to 
say such a thing as that?” 

Margaret was almost crying now. The old 
hunted look had come back to her eyes, and her 
face looked suddenly pinched and old. She came 
close to her mother’s side and caught the soft 
folds of her mother’s dress in cold, shaking 
fingers. 

“ But they do do it — all of ’em,” she warned 
frenziedly. “ Tim Sullivan, an’ Mr. Whalen, an’ 
Patty’s father — they was all husbands, every one 
of ’em ; and there wasn’t one of ’em but what beat 
their wives and banged ’em ’round. You don’t 
know. You hain’t seen ’em, maybe ; but they do 
do it, mother — they do do it ! ” 

For a moment Mrs. Kendall stared speechlessly 

31 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


into the young-old face before her ; then she 
caught the little girl in her arms. 

“You poor little dear!” she choked. “You 
poor forlorn little bunch of misguided pessimism ! 
Come, let me tell you how really good and kind 
and gentle the doctor is. Beat me, indeed ! Oh, 
Margaret, Margaret!” 




32 


CHAPTER IV 


I N spite of Mrs. Kendall’s earnest efforts Mar- 
garet was not easily convinced that marriage 
might be desirable, and that all husbands 
were not patterned after Tim Sullivan and Mike 
Whalen. Nor was this coming marriage the only 
thing that troubled Margaret. Life at the Alley 
was still too vividly before her eyes to allow her 
to understand any scheme of living that did not 
recognize the supremacy of the sharpest tongue 
and the heaviest fist ; and this period of adjust- 
ment to the new order of things was not without 
its trials for herself as well as for her mother. 

The beauty, love, and watchful care that sur- 
rounded her filled her with ecstatic rapture ; but 
the niceties of speech and manner daily demanded 
of her, terrified and dismayed her. Why “bully” 
and “bang-up” should be frowned upon when, 
after all, they but expressed her pleasure in some- 
thing provided for her happiness, she could not 
understand ; and why the handling of the ab- 
surdly large number of knives, forks, and spoons 
33 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


about her plate at dinner should be a matter of so 
great moment, she could not see. As for the 
big white square of folded cloth that her mother 
thought so necessary at every meal — its dainty 
purity filled Margaret with dismay lest she soil or 
wrinkle it ; and for her part she would have much 
preferred to let it quite alone. 

There were the callers, too — beautiful ladies in 
trailing gowns who insisted upon seeing her, 
though why, Margaret could not understand ; for 
they invariably cried and said, “ Poor little lamb ! ” 
when they did see her, in spite of her efforts to 
convince them that she was perfectly happy. And 
there were the children — they, too, were discon- 
certing. They came, sometimes alone, and some- 
times with their parents, but always they stared 
and seemed afraid of her. There were others, to 
be sure, who were not afraid of her. But they 
never “ called.” They “ slipped in ” through the 
back gate at the foot of the garden, and they were 
really very nice. They were Nat and Tom and 
Roxy Trotter, and they lived in a little house 
down by the river. They never wore shoes nor 
stockings, and their clothes were not at all like 
those of the other children. Margaret suspected 


34 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


that the Trotters were poor, and she took pains 
that her mother should see Nat and Tom and 
Roxy. Her mother, however, did not appear to 
know them, which did not seem so very strange to 
Margaret, after all ; for of course her mother had 
not known there were any poor people so near, 
otherwise she would have shared her home with 
them long ago. At first, it was Margaret’s plan 
to rectify this little mistake immediately ; but the 
more she thought of it, the more thoroughly was 
she convinced that the first chance belonged by 
right to Patty’s family and the Whalens in New 
York, inasmuch as they had been so good to her. 
She determined, therefore, to wait awhile before 
suggesting the removal of the Trotter family from 
their tiny, inconvenient house to the more spacious 
and desirable Five Oaks. 

Delightful as were the Trotters, however, even 
they did not quite come up to Bobby McGinnis 
for real comradeship. Bobby lived with his mother 
and grandmother in the little red farmhouse farther 
up the hill. It was he who had found Margaret 
crying in the streets on that first dreadful day long 
ago when she was lost in New York. For a week 
she had lived in his attic home, then she had be* 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


come frightened at his father’s drunken rage, one 
day, and had fled to the streets, never to return. 
All this Margaret knew, though she had but a faint 
recollection of it. It made a bond of sympathy 
between them, nevertheless, and caused them to 
become fast friends at once. 

It was to Bobby that she went for advice when 
the standards of Houghtonsville and the Alley 
clashed ; and it was to Bobby that she went for 
sympathy when grievous mismanagement of the 
knives and forks or of the folded square of cloth 
brought disaster to herself and tears to her mother’s 
eyes. She earnestly desired to — as she expressed 
it to Bobby — “ come up to the scratch and walk 
straight ” ; and it was to Bobby that she looked 
for aid and counsel. 

“You see, you can tell just what ’tis ails me,” 
she argued earnestly, as the two sat in their favor- 
ite perch in the apple tree. “You don’t know 
Patty and the Whalens, ’course, but you do know 
folks just like ’em; and mother — don’t you see? 
— she knows only the kind that lives here, and she 
— she don’t understand. But you know both 
kinds, and you can tell where ’tis that I ain’t like 
’em here. And I want to be like ’em, Bobby, I 
36 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


do, truly. They’re just bang-up — I mean, beauti- 
ful folks,” she corrected hastily. “ And mother’s 
so good to me ! She’s just ” 

Margaret stopped suddenly. A new thought 
seemed to have come to her. 

“ Bobby,” she cried with sharp abruptness, “ did 
you ever know any husbands that was — good ? ” 

“‘Husbands’? ‘Good’? What do ye mean ? ” 

“ Did you ever know any that was good, I mean 
that didn’t beat their wives and bang ’em ’round ? 
Did you, Bobby ? ” 

Bobby laughed. He lifted his chin quizzically, 
and gazed down from the lofty superiority of his 
fourteen years. 

“ Sure, an’ ain’t ye beginnin’ sort o’ early ter 
worry about husbands ? ” he teased. “ But, mebbe 
you’ve already — er — picked him out ! eh?” 

Margaret did not seem to hear. She was looking 
straight through a little open space in the boughs 
of the apple tree to the blue sky far beyond. 

“ Bobby,” she began in a voice scarcely above a 
whisper, “ if that man should be bad to my mother 
I think I’d — kill him.” 

Bobby roused himself. He suddenly remem- 
bered Joe Bagley and the kitten. 

37 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ What man?” he asked. 

“ Dr. Spencer.” 

“ Dr. Spencer ! ” gasped Bobby. “ Why, Dr. 
Spencer wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s just bully ! ” 

Margaret stirred restlessly. She turned a grave 
face on her companion. 

“ Bobby,” she reproved gently, “ I don’t think 
I’d oughter hear them words if I ain’t ’lowed to 
use ’em myself.” 

Bobby uptilted his chin. 

“ I’ve heard your ma say ‘ ain’t ’ wa’n’t proper,” 
he observed virtuously. “ I shouldn’t have men- 
tioned it, only — well, seein’ as how you’re gettin’ 

so awful particular !” For the more telling 

effect he left the sentence unfinished. 

Again Margaret did not seem to hear. Again 
her eyes had sought the patch of blue showing 
through the green leaves. 

“ Dr. Spencer may be nice now, but he ain’t a 
husband yet,” she said, thoughtfully. “ There 
was Tim Sullivan and Patty’s father and Mike 
Whalen,” she enumerated aloud. “ And they 
was all Bobby, was your father a good hus- 

band ? ” she demanded with a sudden turn that 
brought her eyes squarely round to his. 

38 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


The boy was silent. 

“ Bobby, was he ? ” 

Slowly the boy’s eyes fell. 

“Well, of course, sometimes dad would” — 
he began ; but Margaret interrupted him. 

“ I knew it — I just knew it — I just knew there 
wasn’t any,” she moaned; “but I can’t make 
mother see it — I just can’t ! ” 

This was but the first of many talks between 
Margaret and Bobby upon the same subject, and 
always Margaret was seeking for a possible avert- 
ing of the catastrophe. To convince her mother 
of the awfulness of the fate awaiting her, and so 
to persuade her to abandon the idea of marriage, 
was out of the question, Margaret soon found. It 
was then, perhaps, that the idea of speaking to the 
doctor himself first came to her. 

“ If I could only get him to promise things ! ” 
she said to Bobby. “If I could only get him to 
promise ! ” 

“ Promise ? ” 

“ Yes ; to be good and kind, you know,” nodded 
Margaret, “ and not like a husband.” 

Bobby laughed ; then he frowned and was si- 
lent. Suddenly his face changed. 

39 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ I say, you might make him sign a contract,” 
he hazarded. 

“ Contract ? ” 

" Sure ! One of them things that makes folks 
toe the mark whether they wants to or not. IT1 
draw it up for you — that’s what they call it,” he 
explained airily ; and as Margaret bubbled over 
with delight and thanks he added : “ Not at all. 

’Tain’t nothin’. Glad ter do it, I’m sure ! ” 

For a month now Bobby had swept the floor 
and dusted the books in the law office of Burt & 
Burt, to say nothing of running errands and tend- 
ing door. In days gone by, the law, as repre- 
sented by the policeman on the corner, was some- 
thing to be avoided ; but to-day, as represented 
by a frock coat, a tall hat, and a vocabulary bris- 
tling with big words, it was something that was 
most alluring — so alluring, in fact, that Bobby had 
determined to adopt it as his own. He himself 
would be a lawyer — tall hat, frock coat, big words 
and all. Hence his readiness to undertake this 
little matter of drawing up a contract for Margaret, 
his first client. 

It was some days, nevertheless, before the work 
was ready for the doctor’s signature. The young 
40 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


lawyer, unfortunately, could not give all of his 
time to his own affairs ; there were still the trivial 
duties of his office to perform. He found, too, 
that the big words which fell so glibly from the 
lips of the great Burt & Burt were anything but 
easily managed when he tried to put them upon 
paper himself. Bobby was ambitious and per- 
sistent, however, and where knowledge failed, 
imagination stepped boldly to the front. In the 
end it was with no little pride that he displayed 
the result of his labor to his client , then, with her 
gleeful words of approval still ringing in his ears, 
he slipped it into its envelope, sealed, stamped, 
and posted it. Thus it happened that the next 
day a very much amazed physician received this 
in his mail : 

“ To whom it may concern : 

“Whereas, I, the Undersigned, being 
in my sane Mind do intend to commit Matremony, 
I, the said Undersigned do hereby solumly declare 
and agree, to wit, not to Beat my aforesaid Wife. 
Not to Bang her round. Not to Falsely, Wickedly 
and Maliciously treat her. Not once. Moreover, 
I, the said Undersigned do solumly Swear all this 
to Margaret Kendall, the dorter and Lawfull Pro- 
tectur of the said Wife, to wit, Mrs. Kendall. 
And whereas, if I, the aforesaid Undersigned do 
41 


V 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

break and violate this my solum Oath concerning 
the said Wife, I do hereby Swear that she, to wit, 
Margaret Kendall, may bestow upon me such 
Punishmunt as seems eminuntly proper to her at 
such time as she sees fit. Whereas and where- 
unto I have this day set my Hand and Seal.” 

Here followed a space for the signature, and a 
somewhat thumbed, irregular daub of red sealing- 
wax. 


42 


CHAPTER V 


I T was a particularly warm July evening, but 
a faint breeze from the west stirred the leaves 
of the Crimson Rambler that climbed over 
the front veranda at Five Oaks, and brought the 
first relief from the scorching heat. The great 
stone lions loomed out of the shadows and caught 
the moonlight full on their shaggy heads. To the 
doctor, sitting alone on the veranda steps, they 
seemed almost alive, and he smiled at the thought 
that came to him. 

“ So you think you, too, are guarding her,” he 
chuckled quietly. “ Pray, and are you also her 
“Lawfull Protectur * ? ” 

A light step sounded on the floor behind him, 
and he sprang to his feet. 

“ She’s asleep,” said Mrs. Kendall softly. “ She 
dropped asleep almost as soon as she touched the 
pillow. Dear child ! ” 

“Yes, children are apt Amy, dearest!” 

broke off the doctor, sharply, “ you are crying ! ” 

“ No, no, it is nothing,” assured Mrs. Kendall, . 
43 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


as the doctor led her to a chair. “ It is always 
this way, only to-night it was a — a little more 
heart-breaking than usual.” 

“ ‘ Always this way ’ ! ‘ Heart-breaking ’ ! Why, 
Amy ! ” 

Mrs. Kendall smiled, then raised her hand to 
brush away a tear. 

“ You don’t understand,” she murmured. “ It’s 
the bedtime prayer — Margaret’s ; ” then, at the 
doctor’s amazed frown, she added : “ The dear 

child goes over her whole day, bit by bit, and 
asks forgiveness for countless misdemeanors, and 
it nearly breaks my heart, for it shows how many 
times I have said ‘ don’t ’ to the poor little thing 
since morning. And as if that were not piteous 
enough, she must needs ask the dear Father to 
tell her how to handle her fork, and how to sit, 
walk, and talk so’s to please mother. Harry, 
what shall I do ? ” 

“ But you are doing,” returned the doctor. 
“You are loving her, and you are surrounding 
her with everything good and beautiful.” 

“ But I want to do right myself — just right.” 

“ And you are doing just right, dear.” 

“ But the results — they are so irregular and un- 
44 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


even,” sighed the mother, despairingly. “ One 
minute she is the gentle, loving little girl I held in 
my arms five years ago ; and the next she is — 
well, she isn’t Margaret at all.” 

“ No,” smiled the doctor. “ She isn’t Margaret 
at all. She is Mag of the Alley, dependent on her 
wits and her fists for life itself. Don’t worry, 
sweetheart. It will all come right in time ; it 
can’t help it ! — but it will take the time.” 

“ She tries so hard — the little precious ! — and 
she does love me.” 

A curious smile curved the doctor’s lips. 

“ She does,” he said dryly. 

“ Why, Harry, what ” Mrs. Kendall’s eyes 

were questioning. 

The doctor hesitated. Then very slowly he 
drew from his pocket a large, somewhat legal- 
looking document. 

“ I hardly know whether to share this with you 
or not,” he began ; “ still, it is too good to keep 
to myself, and it concerns you intimately ; more- 
over, you may be able to assist me with some 
advice in the matter, or at least with some possi- 
ble explanation.” And he held out the paper. 

Mrs. Kendall turned in her chair so that the 


45 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


light from the open hall-door would fall upon the 
round, cramped handwriting. 

“‘To whom it may concern,’ ” she read aloud. 
“ ‘ Whereas, I, the Undersigned, being in my sane 
Mind do intend to commit Matremony.’ Why, 
Harry, what in the world is this?” she demanded. 

“Go on, — read,” returned the doctor, with a 
nonchalant wave of his hand ; and Mrs. Kendall 
dropped her eyes again to the paper. 

“ Harry, what in the world does this mean ? ” 
she gasped a minute later as she finished reading, 
half laughing, half crying, and wholly amazed. 

“ But that is exactly what I was going to ask 
you,” parried the doctor. 

“You don’t mean that Margaret wrote — but she 
couldn’t ; besides, it isn’t her writing.” 

“ No, Margaret didn’t write it. For that part I 
think I detect the earmarks of young McGinnis. 
At all events, it came from him.” 

“ Bobby?” 

« Yes.” 

“ But who ” Mrs. Kendall stopped abruptly. 

A dawning comprehension came into her eyes. 
“You mean — Harry, she was at the bottom of it ! 
I remember now. It was only a week or two ago 

46 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


that she used those same words to me. She in- 
sisted that you would beat me and — and bang me 
’round. Oh, Margaret, Margaret, my poor little 
girl ! ” 

The doctor smiled ; then he shook his head 
gravely. 

“ Poor child ! She hasn’t seen much of conjugal 
felicity ; has she ? ” he murmured ; then, softly : 
“ It is left for us, sweetheart, to teach her — that.” 

The color deepened in Mrs. Kendall’s cheeks. 
Her eyes softened, then danced merrily. 

“ But you haven’ t signed — this, sir, yet ! ” she 
challenged laughingly, as she held out the paper. 

He caught both paper and hands in a warm 
clasp. 

“ But I will,” he declared. “ Wait and see ! ” 

Not twenty hours later Bobby McGinnis halted 
at the great gate of the driveway at Five Oaks 
and gave a peculiar whistle. Almost instantly 
Margaret flew across the lawn to meet him. * 

“ Oh, it’s jest a little matter of business,” greeted 
Bobby, with careless ease. “I’ve got that ’ere 
document here all signed. I reckoned the doc- 
tor wouldn’t lose no time makin’ sure ter do his 
part.” 


47 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


4 4 Bobby, not the contract — so soon ! ” exulted 
Margaret. 

“ Sure ! Why not ? I told him ter please sign 
to once an’ return. An’ he did, ’course. I reck- 
oned he meant business in this little matter, an’ 
he reckoned I did, too. There wa’n’t nothin’ for 
him ter do but sign, ’course.” 

Margaret drew her brows together in a thought- 
ful frown. 

“ But he might have — refused,” she suggested. 

Bobby gave her a scornful glance. 

“ Refused — an’ lost the chance of marryin’ at 
all ? Not much 1 ” he asserted with emphasis. 

‘‘Well, anyhow, I’m glad he didn’t,” sighed 
Margaret, as she clutched the precious paper 
close to her heart. “ I should ’a’ hated to have 
refused outright to let him marry her when mother 
— Bobby, mother actually seems to want to have 
him ! ” 


48 


CHAPTER VI 


M ARGARET had been at home four 
weeks when the invitation for Patty, 
Arabella, Clarabella, and three of the 
Whalens to visit her, finally left her mother’s 
hands. There had not been a day of all those 
four weeks that Margaret had not talked of the 
coming visit. At first, to be sure, she had not 
called it a visit ; she had referred to it as the 
time when “ Patty and the Whalens come here to 
live.” Gradually, however, her mother had per- 
suaded her to let them “ try it and see how they 
liked it” ; and to this compromise Margaret finally 
gave a somewhat reluctant consent. 

Mrs. Kendall herself was distinctly uneasy over 
the whole affair ; and on one pretext and another 
had put off sending for the proposed guests until 
Margaret’s importunities left her no choice in the 
matter. Not but that she was grateful to the two 
families that had been so good to Margaret in her 
hour of need, but she would have preferred to 
show that gratitude in some way not quite so 
49 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


intimate as taking them into her house and home 
for an indefinite period. Margaret, however, was 
still intent on “ divvying up,” and Mrs. Kendall 
could not look into her daughter’s clear blue eyes, 
and explain why Patty, Arabella, Clarabella, and 
the Whalens might not be the most desirable 
guests in the world. 

It had been Margaret’s intention to invite all of 
the Whalen family. She had hesitated a little, it 
is true, over Mike Whalen, the father. 

“You see he drinks, and when he ain’t asleep 
he’s cross, mostly,” she explained to her mother ; 
“ but we can’t leave just him behind, so we’ll have 
to ask him, ’course. Besides, if he’s goin’ to live 
here, why, he might as well come right now at 
the first.” 

“No, certainly we couldn’t leave Mr. Whalen 
behind alone,” Mrs. Kendall had returned with 
dry lips. “ So suppose we don’t take any of the 
Whalens this time — just devote ourselves to Patty 
and the twins.” 

To this, however, Margaret refused to give her 
consent. What, not take any of the Whalens — 
the Whalens who had been so good as to give 
them one whole corner of their kitchen, rent free ? 

50 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


Certainly not ! She agreed, however, after con- 
siderable discussion, to take only Tom, Mary, and 
Peter of the Whalen family, leaving the rest of 
the children and Mrs. Whalen to keep old Mike 
Whalen company. 

“For, after all,” as she said to her mother, “ if 
Tom and Mary and Peter like it here, the rest 
will. They always like what Tom does — he makes 
’em.” 

Mrs. Kendall never thought of that speech after- 
ward without a shudder. She even dreamed once 
of this all-powerful Tom — he stood over her with 
clinched fists and flashing eyes, demanding that 
she “ divvy up ” to the last cent. Clearly as she 
understood that this was only a dream, yet the 
vision haunted her ; and it was not without some 
apprehension that she went with Margaret to the 
station to meet her guests, on the day appointed. 

A letter from Margaret had gone to Patty, and 
one from Mrs. Kendall to Miss Murdock, the city 
missionary who had been so good to Margaret. 
Houghtonsville was on a main line to New York, 
and but a few hours’ ride from the city. Mrs. 
Kendall had given full instructions as to trains, and 
had sent the money for the six tickets. She had 
5i 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


also asked Miss Murdock to place the children in 
care of the conductor, saying that she would meet 
them herself at the Houghtonsville station. 

Promptly in return had come Miss Murdock’s 
letter telling of the children’s delighted acceptance 
of the invitation ; and almost immediately had fol- 
lowed Patty’s elaborately flourished scrawl : 

“ Much obliged for de invite an wes Acomin. 
Tanks. 

“ Clarabella, Arabella, an 

“ Patty at yer service.” 

Mrs. Kendall thought of this letter and of Tom 
as she stood waiting for the long train from New 
York to come to a standstill ; then she looked 
down at the sweet-faced daintily-gowned little 
maid at her side, and shuddered — it is one thing 
to carry beef-tea and wheel-chairs to our unfor- 
tunate fellow men, and quite another to invite 
those same fellow men to a seat at our own table 
or by our own fireside. 

Margaret and her mother had not long to wait. 
Tom Whalen, in spite of the conductor’s restrain- 
ing hand, was on the platform before the wheels 
had ceased to turn. Behind him tumbled Peter, 
Mary, and Clarabella, while Patty, carefully guid- 
52 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


ing Arabella’s twisted feet, brought up the rear. 
There was an instant’s pause ; then Tom spied 
Margaret, and with a triumphant “ Come on — 
here she is ! ” to those behind, he dashed down the 
platform. 

“ My, but ain’t you slick ! ” he cried admiringly, 
stopping short before Margaret, who had uncon- 
sciously shrunk close to her mother’s side. “ Hi, 
thar, Patty,” he called, hailing the gleeful children 
behind him, “ what would the Alley say if they 
could see her now ? ” 

There was a moment’s pause. Eagerly as the 
children had followed Tom’s lead, they stood 
abashed now before the tall, beautiful woman and 
the pretty little girl they had once known as 
“ Mag of the Alley.” Almost instantly Margaret 
saw and understood ; and with all the strength of 
her hospitable little soul she strove to put her 
guests at their ease. With a glad little cry she 
gave one after another a bear-like hug ; then she 
stood back with a flourish and prepared for the in- 
troductions. Unconsciously her words and man- 
ner aped those of her mother in sundry other in- 
troductions that had figured in her own experience 
during the last four weeks ; and before Mrs. Ken- 
53 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

dall knew what was happening she found herself 
being ceremoniously presented to Tom Whalen, 
late of the Alley, New York. 

“ Tom, this is my dear mother that I lost long 
ago,” said Margaret. “ Mother, dear, can’t you 
shake hands with Tom?” 

Tom advanced. His face was a fiery red, and 
the freckles shone luridly through the glow. 

“ Proud ter know ye, ma’am,” he stammered, 
clutching frantically at the daintily-gloved, out- 
stretched hand. 

Margaret sighed with relief. Tom did know how 
to behave, after all. She had feared he would not. 

“And this is Mary Whalen, and Peter,” she 
went on, as Mrs. Kendall clasped in turn two limp 
hands belonging to a white-faced girl and a fright- 
ened boy. “ And here’s Patty and the twins, 
Clarabella and Arabella ; and now you know ’em 
all,” finished Margaret, beaming joyously upon 
her mother who was leaning with tender eyes over 
the little lame Arabella. 

“ My dear, how thin your poor little cheeks are,” 
Mrs. Kendall was saying. 

“Yes, she is kind o’ peaked,” volunteered Patty. 
“ Miss Murdock says as how her food don’t ’simi- 
54 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


late. Ye see she ain’t over strong, anyhow, on 
account o’ dem,” pointing to the little twisted feet 
and legs. “ Mebbe Maggie told ye, ma’am, how 
Arabella wa’n’t finished up right, an’ how her legs 
didn’t go straight like ours,” added Patty, giving 
her usual explanation of her sister’s misfortune. 

“Yes,” choked Mrs. Kendall, hurriedly. “She 
told me that the little girl was lame. Now, my 
dears, we — we’ll go home.” Mrs. Kendall hesi- 
tated and looked about her. “You — you haven’t 
any bags or — or anything?” she asked them. 

“ Gee ! ” cried Tom, turning sharply toward the 
track where had stood a moment before the train 
that brought them. “ An’ if ’tain’t gone so 
soon ! ” 

“ Gone — the bag?” chorused five shrill voices. 

“ Sure ! ” nodded Tom. Then, with a resigned 
air, he thrust both hands into his trousers pockets. 
“ Gone she is, bag and baggage.” 

“ Oh, I’m so sorry,” murmured Mrs. Kendall. 

“ Pooh ! ’tain’t a mite o’ matter,” assured Patty, 
quickly. “Ye see, dar wa’n’t nothin’ in it, any- 
how, only a extry ribb’n fur Arabella’s hair.” 
Then, at Mrs. Kendall’s blank look of amazement, 
she explained : “We only took it ’cause Katy 
55 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

Sovrensky said folks allers took ’em when they 
went trav’lin’. So we fished dis out o’ de ash 
barrel an’ fixed it up wid strings an’ tacks. We 
didn’t have nothin’ ter put in it, ’course. All our 
clo’s is on us.” 

“ We didn’t need nothin’ else, anyhow,” piped 
up Arabella, “ for all our things is span clean. 
We went ter bed ’most all day yisterday so’s 
Patty could wash ’em.” 

“Yes, yes, of course, certainly,” agreed Mrs. 
Kendall, faintly, as she turned and led the way to 
the big four-seated carryall waiting for them. 
“Then we’ll go home right away.” 

To Tom, Peter, Mary, Patty, Arabella, and 
Clarabella, it was all so wonderful that they fairly 
pinched themselves to make sure they were awake. 
The drive through the elm-bordered streets with 
everywhere flowers, vine-covered houses, and 
velvety lawns — it was all quite unbelievable. 

“ It’s more like Mont-Lawn than anythin’ I ever 
see,” murmured Arabella. “ Seems ’most as 
though ’twas heaven.” And Mrs. Kendall, who 
heard the words, reproached herself because for 
four long weeks she had stood jealous guard over 
this “heaven” and refused to “divvy up” its en- 
5 6 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

joyment. The next moment she shuddered and 
unconsciously drew Margaret close to her side, 
Patty had said : 

“ Gee whiz, Mag, ain’t you lucky ? Wis’t I was 
a lost an’ founded 1 ” 

The house with its great stone lions was hailed 
with an awed “ oh-h ! ” of delight, as were the 
wide lawns and brilliant flower-beds. Inside the 
house the children blinked in amazement at the 
lace-hung windows, and gold-framed pictures ; 
and Clarabella, balancing herself on her toes, 
looked fearfully at the woven pinks and roses at 
her feet and demanded : “ Don’t walkin’ on ’em 

hurt ’em? 

“Seems so ’twould,” she added, her eyes dis- 
trustfully bent on Margaret who had laughed, and 
by way of proving the carpet’s durability, was 
dancing up and down upon it. 

The matter of choosing beds in the wide, airy 
chambers was a momentous one. In the boys’ 
room, to be sure, it was a simple matter, for there 
were only two beds, and Tom settled the question 
at once by unceremoniously throwing Peter on to 
one of them, and pommeling him with the pillow 
until he howled for mercy. 

57 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


The girls had two rooms opening out of each 
other, and in each room were two dainty white 
beds. Here the matter of choosing was only set- 
tled amicably at last by a rigid system of “ count- 
ing out” by “ Eeny, meany, miny, mo”; and 
even this was not accomplished without much 
shouting and laughter, and not a few angry 
words. 

Margaret was distressed. For a time she was 
silent ; then she threw herself into the discussion 
with all the ardor of one who would bring peace 
at any cost ; and it was by her suggestion that the 
“ Eeny, meany, miny, mo,” finally won the day. 
In her own room that night, as she went to bed, 
she apologized to her mother. 

“ I’m sorry they was so rude, mother. I had 
forgot they was quite so noisy,” she confessed 
anxiously. “ But I’ll tell ’em to-morrow to be 
more quiet. Maybe they didn’t know that little 
ladies and little gentlemen don’t act like that.” 


58 


CHAPTER VII 


F IVE OAKS awoke to a new existence on 
the first morning after the arrival of its 
guests from New York — an existence of 
wild shouts, gleeful laughter, scampering feet 
and confusion. In the kitchen and the garden 
old Mr. and Mrs. Barrett no longer held full sway. 
For some time there had been a cook, a waitress, 
a laundress, and an experienced gardener as well. 
In the barn, too, there was now a stalwart fellow 
who was coachman and chauffeur by turns, accord- 
ing to whether the old family carriage or the new 
four-cylinder touring car was wanted. 

Tom, Peter, Mary, Patty, and the twins had not 
been at Five Oaks twenty-four hours before they 
were fitted to new clothing throughout. Mrs. 
Kendall had not slept until she had interviewed 
the town clothier as to ways and means of im- 
mediately providing two boys and four girls with 
shoes, stockings, hats, coats, trousers, dresses, and 
undergarments. 


59 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ ’ Course ’tain’t ’zactly necessary,” Patty had 
said, upon being presented with her share of the 
new garments, “but it’s awful nice, ’cause now 
we don’t have ter go ter bed when ours is washed 
— an’ they be awful nice ! Just bang-up ! ” 

No wonder Five Oaks awoke to a new exist- 
ence ! The wide-spreading lawns knew now what 
it was to be pressed by a dozen little scampering 
feet at once : and the great stone lions knew what 
it was to have two yelling boys mount their car- 
ven backs, and try to dig sharp little heels into 
their stone sides. Within the house, the attic, 
sacred for years to cobwebs and musty memories, 
knew what it was to yield its treasured bonnets, 
shawls, and quilted skirts to a swarm of noisy 
children who demanded them for charades. 

Tom, Peter, Mary, Patty, Arabella, and Clara- 
bella had been at Five Oaks two weeks when one 
day Bobby McGinnis found Margaret crying all 
alone in the old summerhouse down in the 
garden. 

“ Gorry, what’s up ? ” he questioned ; adding 
cheerily : “ ‘ Soldiers’ daughters don’t cry ’ ! ” — 

it was a quotation from Margaret’s own child- 
hood’s creed, and one which in the old days sel- 
60 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

dom failed to dry her tears. Even now it was 
not without its effect, for her head came up with a 
jerk. 

“ I — I know it,” she sobbed ; “ and I ain’t — I 
mean, I are not going to. There, you see,” she 
broke off miserably, falling back into her old des- 
pondent attitude. “‘Ain’t’ should be ‘are not’ 
always, and I never can remember.” 

“ Pooh I Is that all ? ” laughed Bobby. 
“’TwquM take more’n a ‘are not’ ter make me 
cry.” 

“ But that ain’t all,” wailed Margaret, and she 
did not notice that at one of her words Bobby 
chuckled and parted his lips only to close them 
again with a snap. “ There’s heaps more of ’em ; 
‘ bully ’ and ‘ bang-up ’ and ‘ gee ’ and ‘ drownded ’ 
and ‘ g ’ on the ends of things, and — well, almost 
everything I say, seems so.” 

“Well, what of it ? You’ll get over it. You’re 
a-learnin’ all the time ; ain’t ye ? ” 

“ ‘ Are not you,’ Bobby,” sighed Margaret. 

“ Well, ‘ are not you,’ then,” snapped Bobby. 

Margaret shook her head. A look that was 
almost terror came to her eyes. She leaned for- 
ward and clutched the boy’s arm. 

61 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ Bobby, that’s just it,” she whispered, looking 
fearfully over her shoulder to make sure that no 
one heard. “That’s just it — I’m not a-learnin’ !” 

“Why not?” 

“Because of them — Tom, and Patty, and the 
rest.” 

Bobby looked dazed, and Margaret plunged 
headlong into her explanation. 

“ It’s them. They do ’em — all of ’em. Don’t 
you see ? They say ‘ ain’t ’ and ‘ gee ’ and ‘ bully ’ 
all the time, and I see now how bad ’tis, and I 
want to stop. But I can’t stop, Bobby. I just 
can’t. I try to, but it just comes before I know 
it. I tried to stop them sayin’ ’em, first,” went on 
Margaret, feverishly, “ just as I tried to make ’em 
act ladylike with their feet and their knives and 
forks ; but it didn’t do a mite o’ good. First they 
laughed at me, then they got mad. You know 
how ’twas, Bobby. You saw ’em.” 

Bobby whistled. 

“Yes, I know,” he said soberly. “ But when 
they go away ” 

“That’s just it,” cut in Margaret, tragically. 
“ I wa’n’t goin’ to have them go away. I was 
goin’ to keep ’em always ; and now I — Bobby, I 
62 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


want them to go 1 ” she paused and let the full 
enormity of her confession sink into her hearer’s 
comprehension. Then she repeated : “ I want 

them to go ! ” 

‘‘Well, what of it?” retorted Bobby, with airy 
unconcern. 

“What of it!” wept Margaret. “Why, Bobby, 
don’t you see ? I was goin’ to divvy up, and I 
ought to divvy up, too. I’ve got trees and grass 
and flowers and beds with sheets on ’em and 
enough to eat, and they hain’t got anything — not 
anything. And now I don’t want to divvy up, I 
don’t want to divvy up, because I don’t want them 
—here ! ” 

Margaret covered her face with her hands and 
rocked herself to and fro. Bobby was silent. 
His hands were in his pocket, and his eyes were 
on an ant struggling with a burden almost as 
large as itself. 

“ Don’t you see, Bobby, it’s wicked that I am 
— awful wicked,” resumed Margaret, after a 
minute. “ I want to be nice and gentle like 
mother wants me to be. I don’t want to be Mag 
of the Alley. I — I hate Mag of the Alley. But 
if Tom and Patty and the rest stays I shall be 
6 3 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

just like them, Bobby, I know I shall ; and — and 
so I don’t want ’em to stay.” 

Bobby stirred uneasily, changing his position. 

“ Well, you — you hain’t asked ’em to, yet ; have 
ye ? ” he questioned. 

“No. Mother ’spressly stip’lated that I 
shouldn’t say anything about their stayin’ always 
till their visit was over and they saw how they 
liked things.” 

“ Shucks ! ” rejoined Bobby, his face clearing. 
“Then what ye cryin’ ’bout? You ain’t bound 
by no contract. You don’t have ter divvy up.” 

“ But I ought to divvy up.” 

“ Pooh ! ’Course ye hadn’t,” scoffed Bobby. 
“ Hain’t folks got a right ter have their own things ? ” 

Margaret frowned doubtfully. 

“ I don’t know,” she began with some hesita- 
tion. “ If I’ve got nice things and more of ’em 
than Patty has, why shouldn’t she have some of 
mine? ’Tain’t fair, somehow. Somebody ain’t 
playin’ straight. I — I’m goin’ to ask mother.” 
And she turned slowly away and began to walk 
toward the house. 

Not once, but many times during the next few 
days, did Margaret talk with her mother on this 
64 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


subject that so troubled her. The result of these 
conferences Bobby learned not five days later 
when Margaret ran down to meet him at the great 
driveway gate. Back on the veranda Patty and 
the others were playing “ housekeeping,” and 
Margaret spoke low so that they might not hear. 

“ I am goin’ to divvy up,” she announced in 
triumph, “ but not here.” 

“Huh?” frowned Bobby. 

“ I am goin’ to divvy up — give ’em some of my 
things, you know,” explained Margaret ; “ then 
when they go back, mother’s goin’ with ’em and 
find a better place for ’em to live in.” 

“Oh, then they are goin ’ back — eh ? ” 

Margaret flushed a little and threw a question- 
ing look into Bobby’s face. There seemed to be 
a laugh in Bobby’s voice, though there was none 
on his lips. 

“ Yes,” she nodded hurriedly. “ You see, mother 
thinks it’s best. She says that they hadn’t ought 
to be here now — with me ; that it’s my form’tive 
period, and that everything about me ought to be 
just right so as to form me right. See?” 

“Yes, I see,” said Bobby, so crossly that Mar- 
garet opened her eyes in wonder. 

65 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

“Why, Bobby, you don’t care ’cause they’re 
goin’ away ; do you? ” 

“ Don’t I ? ” he growled. “ Humph ! I s’pose 
’twill be me next that’ll be sent flyin’.” 

“ You ? Why, you live here ! ” 

“Well, I say ‘ain’t’ an’ ‘bully’; don’t I?” he 
retorted aggressively. 

Margaret stepped back. Her face changed. 

“ Why — so — you — do ! ” she breathed. “ And 
I never once thought of it.” 

Bobby said nothing. He was standing on one 
foot, digging the toe of the other into the graveled 
driveway. For a time Margaret regarded him 
with troubled eyes ; then she sighed : 

“ Well, anyhow, you don’t live here all the time, 
right in the house, same’s Patty and the rest 
would if they stayed. I — I don’t want to give you 
up, Bobby.” 

Bobby flushed red under the tan. His eyes 
sparkled with pleasure — but his chin went up, and 
his hands executed the careless flourish that a boy 
of fourteen is apt to use when he wishes to hide 
the fact that his heart is touched. 

“ Don’t trouble yerself,” he shrugged airily. 
“ It don’t make a mite o’ diff’rence ter me, ye 
66 



FOR A TIME MARGARET REGARDED HIM WITH TROUBLED EYES.” 



































THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


know. There’s plenty I can be with.” And he 
turned and hurried up the road with long strides, 
sending back over his shoulder a particularly joy- 
ous whistle — a whistle that broke and wheezed 
into silence, however, the minute that the woods 
at the turn of the road were reached. 

“ I don’t care,” he blustered, glaring at the chip- 
munk that eyed him from the top rail of the fence. 
“ Bully — gee — ain’t — hain’t — bang-up ! There ! ” 
Then, having demonstrated his right to whatever 
vocabulary he chose to employ, he went home to 
the little red farmhouse on the hill and spent an 
hour hunting for a certain book of his mother’s in 
the attic. When he had found it he spent an- 
other hour poring over its contents. The book 
was old and yellow and dog-eared, and bore on 
the faded pasteboard cover the words : “A work 
on English Grammar and Composition.” 


67 


CHAPTER VIII 


OM, Peter, Mary, Patty, and the twins 



stayed at Five Oaks until the first of 


September, then, plump, brown, and 
happy they returned to New York. With them 
went several articles of use and beauty which had 
hitherto belonged to Five Oaks. Mrs. Kendall, 
greatly relieved at Margaret’s somewhat surprising 
willingness to let the visitors go, had finally con- 
sented to Margaret’s proposition that the children 
be allowed to select something they specially liked 
to take back with them. In giving this consent, 
Mrs. Kendall had made only such reservation as 
would insure that certain valuable (and not easily 
duplicated) treasures of her own should remain 
undisturbed. 

She smiled afterward at her fears. Tom selected 
an old bugle from the attic, and Peter a scabbard 
that had lost its sword. Mary chose a string of 
blue beads that Margaret sometimes wore, and 
Clarabella a pink sash that she found in a trunk. 
Patty, before telling her choice, asked timidly 


68 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


what would happen if it was “ too big ter be 
tooked in yer hands.” Upon being assured that 
it would be sent, if it could not be carried, she 
unhesitatingly chose the biggest easy-chair the 
house afforded, with the announcement that it 
was “ a Christmas present fur Mis’ Whalen.” 

For a moment Mrs. Kendall had felt tempted 
to remonstrate, and to ask Patty if she realized 
just how a green satin-damask Turkish chair 
would look in Mrs. Whalen’s basement kitchen ; 
but after one glance at Patty’s radiant face, she 
had changed her mind, and had merely said : 

“Very well, dear. It shall be sent the day you 

go” 

Arabella only, of all the six, delayed her choice 
until the final minute. Even on that last morning 
she was hesitating between a marble statuette 
and a harmonica. In the end she took neither, 
for she had spied a huge chocolate-frosted cake 
that the cook had just made ; and it was that cake 
which finally went to the station carefully packed 
in a pasteboard box and triumphantly borne in 
Arabella’s arms. 

Mrs. Kendall herself went to New York with 
the children, taking Margaret with her. In the 
69 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


Grand Central Station she shuddered a little as 
she passed a certain seat. Involuntarily she 
reached for her daughter’s hand. 

“ And was it here that I stayed and stayed that 
day long ago when you got hurt and didn’t 
come ? ” asked Margaret. 

“ Yes, dear — right here.” 

*“ Seems ’most as if I remembered,” murmured 
the little girl, her eyes fixed on one of the great 
doors across the room. “I stayed and stayed, 
and you never came at all. And by and by I 
went out there to look for you, and I walked 
and walked and walked. And I was so tired and 
hungry ! ” 

“Yes, yes, dear, I know,” faltered Mrs. Kendall, 
tightening her clasp on the small fingers. “ But 
we won’t think of all that now, dear. It is past 
and gone. Come, we’re going to take Patty and 
the others home, you know, then to-morrow we are 
going to see if we can’t find a new home for them.” 

“ Divvy up ! ” cried Margaret, brightening. 
“We’re goin’ to divvy up!” 

“Yes, dear.” 

“Oh!” breathed Margaret, ecstatically. “I like 
to divvy up ! ” And the mother smiled content, 
70 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


for the last trace of gloomy brooding had fled 
from her daughter’s face, and left it glowing with 
the joy of a care-free child. 

Not two hours later a certain alley in the great 
city was thrown into wild confusion. Out of every 
window leaned disheveled heads, and in every 
doorway stood a peering, questioning throng. 
Down by the Whalens’ basement door, the crowd 
was almost impassable ; and every inch of space 
in the windows opposite was filled with gesticu- 
lating men, women, and children. 

Mag of the Alley had come back. And, as if 
that were not excitement enough for once, with 
her had come Tom, Mary, Peter, Patty, and the 
twins, to say nothing of the beautiful lady with 
the golden hair, and the white wings on her hat. 

An’ she’s all dressed up fit ter kill — Maggie 
is,” Katy Goldburg was calling excitedly over her 
shoulder. Katy, and Tony Valerio had the ad- 
vantage over the others, for they were down on 
their knees before the Whalens’ window on a 
level with the sidewalk. The room inside was 
almost in darkness, to be sure, for the crowd out- 
side had obscured what little daylight there was 
left, and there was only the sputtering kerosene 
7i 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


lamp on the table for illumination. Even this, 
however, sufficed to show Katy and Tony won- 
ders that unloosed their tongues and set them to 
giving copious reports. 

“ She’s got a white dress on, an’ a hat with 
posies, an’ shoes an’ stockings,” enumerated Katy. 

“An’ de lady’s got di’monds on her — I seen 
’em sparkle,” shouted Tony. “An’ de Whalen 
kids is all fixed up, too,” he added. “ An’, say, 
dey’ve bringed home stuff an’ is showin’ ’em. 
Gee ! look at that sw-word ! ” 

“ An’ thar’s cake,” gurgled Katy. “ Tony, 
they’re eatin’ choc’late cake. Say, I am a-goin’ 
in!” 

There was a sudden commotion about the 
Whalens’ door. An undersized little body was 
worming its way through the crowd, and thrust- 
ing sharp little elbows to the right and to the 
left. The next minute, Margaret Kendall, stand- 
ing near the Whalens’ table, felt an imperative 
tug at her sleeve. 

“ Hullo ! Say, Mag, give us a bite ; will ye ? ” 

“ Katy ! Why, it’s Katy Goldburg,” cried 
Margaret in joyous recognition. “ Mother, here’s 
Katy.” 


72 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


The first touch of Margaret’s hand on Katy’s 
shoulder swept like an electric shock through the 
waiting throng around the door. It was the sig- 
nal for a general onslaught. In a moment the 
Whalen kitchen swarmed with boys, girls, and 
women, all shouting, all talking at once, and all 
struggling to reach the beautiful, blue-eyed, 
golden-haired little girl they had known as “ Mag 
of the Alley.” 

Step by step Margaret fell back until she was 
quite against the wall. Her eyes grew wide and 
terror-filled, yet she made a brave attempt to smile 
and to respond politely to the noisy greetings. 
Across the room Mrs. Kendall struggled to reach 
her daughter’s side, but the onrushing tide of hu- 
manity flung her back and left her helpless and 
alone. 

It was then that Mrs. Whalen’s powerful fist 
and strident voice came to the rescue. In three 
minutes the room was cleared, and Margaret was 
sobbing in her mother’s arms. 

‘‘You see, mother, you see how ’tis,” she cried 
hysterically, as soon as she could speak. “ There’s 
such lots and lots of them, and they’re all so poor. 
Did you see how ragged and bad their clothes 
73 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

were, and how they grabbed for the cake ? We’ve 
got to divvy up, mother, we’ve got to divvy up ! ” 
“Yes, dear, I know ; and we will,” soothed Mrs. 
Kendall, hurriedly. “ We’ll begin right away to- 
morrow, darling. But now we’ll go back to the 
hotel and go to bed. My little girl is tired and 
needs rest.” 


74 


CHAPTER IX 


D R. SPENCER met Mrs. Kendall and her 
daughter at the Hough tonsville station 
on the night they returned from New 
York. His lips were smiling, and his eyes were 
joyous as befitted a lover who is to behold for the 
first time in nine long days his dear one’s face. 
The eager words of welcome died on his lips, how- 
ever, at sight of the weariness and misery in the 
two dear faces before him. 

“ Why, Amy, dearest,” he began anxiously : 
but her upraised hand silenced him. 

“To-night — not now,” she murmured, with a 
quick glance at Margaret. Then aloud to her 
daughter she said : “ See, dear, here’s Dr. Spen- 

cer, and he’s brought the ponies to carry us home. 
What a delightful drive we will have ! ” 

“ Oh, has he?” For an instant Margaret’s face 
glowed with animation ; then the light died out 
as suddenly as it had come. “ But, mother, I — I 
think I’d rather walk,” she said. “You know 
Patty and the rest can’t ride.” 

75 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


The doctor frowned, and gave a sudden excla- 
mation under his breath. Mrs. Kendall paled a 
little and turned to her daughter. 

“ Yes, I know/’ she said gently. “ But you are 
very tired, and mother thinks it best you should 
ride. After all, dearie, you know it won’t make 
Patty and the rest ride, even if you do walk. 
Don’t you see ? ” 

“ Yes, I — I suppose so,” admitted Margaret ; 
but she sighed as she climbed into the carriage, 
and all the way home her eyes were troubled. 

Not until after Margaret had gone to bed that 
night did Mrs. Kendall answer the questions that 
had trembled all the evening on the doctor’s lips ; 
then she told him the story of those nine days in 
New York, beginning with Margaret’s visit to the 
Alley, and her overwhelming “ reception ” in the 
Whalens’ basement home. 

“ I’m afraid the whole thing has been a mis- 
take,” she said despondently, when she had fin- 
ished. “ Instead of making Margaret happy, it 
has made her miserable.” 

“ But I don’t see,” protested the doctor. “ As 
near as I can make out you did just what she 
wanted ; you — er — * divvied up.’ ” 

76 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


Mrs. Kendall sighed. 

“ Why, of course, to a certain extent : but even 
Margaret, child though she is, saw the hopeless- 
ness of the task when once we set about it. There 
were so many, so pitifully many. Her few weeks 
of luxurious living here at home have opened her 
eyes to the difference between her life and theirs, 
and I thought the child would cry herself sick over 
it all.” 

“ But you helped them — some of them?” 

Again Mrs. Kendall sighed. 

“ Yes, oh, yes, we helped them. I think if Mar- 
garet could have had her way we should have 
marched through the streets to the tune of ‘ See 
the conquering hero comes/ distributing new 
dresses and frosted cakes with unstinted hands ; but 
I finally convinced her that such assistance was 
perhaps not the wisest way of going about what 
we wanted to do. At last I had to keep her away 
from the Alley altogether, it affected her so. I got 
her interested in looking up a new home for the 
Whalens, and so filled her mind with that.” 

“ Oh, then the Whalens have a new home ? 
Well, I’m sure Margaret must have liked that.” 

Mrs. Kendall smiled wearily. 

77 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ Margaret did,” she said ; and at the emphasis 
the doctor raised his eyebrows. 

“ But, surely the Whalens ” 

“ Did not,” supplied Mrs. Kendall. 

“ Did not ! ” cried the doctor. 

“ Well, ’twas this way,” laughed Mrs. Kendall. 
“ It was my idea to find a nice little place outside 
the city where perhaps Mr. Whalen could raise 
vegetables, and Mrs. Whalen do some sort of work 
that paid better than flower-making. Perhaps 
Margaret’s insistence upon ‘ grass and trees ’ in- 
fluenced me. At any rate, I found the place, and 
in high feather told the Whalens of the good for- 
tune in store for them. What was my surprise to 
be met with blank silence, save only one wild 
whoop of glee from the children. 

“ ‘ An’ sure then, an’ it’s in the country ; is it ? ’ 
Mrs. Whalen asked finally. 

“ ‘ Yes/ I said. ‘ With a yard, some flower beds, 
and a big garden for vegetables.’ I was just 
warming to my subject once more when Mr. 
Whalen demanded, ‘ Is it fur from the Alley ? ’ 
“Well, to make a long story short, they at last 
kindly consented to view the place ; but, after one 
glance, they would have none of it.” 

78 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ But — why ? ” queried the doctor. 

“Various reasons. ’Twas lonesome; too far 
from the Alley ; they didn’t care to raise vegeta- 
bles, any way, and Mr. Whalen considered it quite 
too much work to * kape up a place like that.’ 
According to my private opinion, however, the 
man had an eye out for a saloon, and he didn’t 
see it ; consequently — the result ! 

“ Well, we came back to town and the basement 
kitchen. Margaret was inconsolable when she 
heard the decision. The Whalen children, too, 
were disappointed ; but Mr. Whalen and his wife 
were deaf to their entreaties. In the end I per- 
suaded them to move to rooms that at least had 
the sun and air — though they were still in the 
Alley — and there I left them with a well-stocked 
larder and wardrobe, and with the rent paid six 
months in advance. I shall keep my eye on them, 
of course, for Margaret’s sake, and I hope to do 
something really worth while for the children. 
Patty and the twins are still with them at 
present” 

“ But wasn't Margaret satisfied with that? ’’ asked 
the doctor. 

“ Yes, so far as it went : but there were still the 
79 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


others. Harry, that child has the whole Alley on 
her heart. I’m at my wits’ end to know what to 
do. You heard her this afternoon — she didn’t 
want to ride home because Patty must walk in 
New York. She looks askance at the frosting on 
her cake, and questions her right to wear anything 
but rags. Harry, what can I do?” 

The man was silent. 

“ I don’t know, dear,” he said slowly, at last. 
“ We must think — and think hard. Hers is not a 
common case. There is no precedent to deter- 
mine our course. Small girls of five that have 
been reared in luxury are not often thrust into the 
streets and sweat shops of a great city and there 
forced to spend four years of their life — thank 
God ! That those four years should have had a tre- 
mendous influence is certain. She can’t be the 
same girl she would have been had she spent those 
years at her mother’s knee. One thing is sure, 
however, seems to me. In her present nervous 
condition, if there is such a thing as getting her 
mind off those four years of her life and everything 
connected with it, it should be done.” 

The doctor paused, and at that instant a step 
sounded on the graveled driveway. A moment 
80 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


later a boy’s face flashed into the light that 
streamed through the open door. 

“ Why, Bobby, is that you ? ” cried Mrs. Ken- 
dall. 

“Yes, ma’am, it’s me, please. Did Mag — I 
mean Margaret come home, please ? ” 

“Yes, she came to-night.” 

Bobby hesitated. He stood first on one foot, 
then on the other. At last, very slowly he dragged 
his right hand from behind his back. 

“ I been makin’ it for her,” he said, presenting 
a small, but very elaborate basket composed of 
peach-stones. “ Mebbe if she ain’t — er — are not 
awake, you’ll give it to her in the mornin’. Er — 
thank ye. Much obliged. Good-evenin’, ma’am.” 
And he turned and fled down the walk. 

For a time there was silence on the veranda. 
Mrs. Kendall was turning the basket over and 
over in her hands. Suddenly she raised her head. 

“ You are right, Harry,” she sighed. “ Her 
mind must be taken off those four years of her 
life, and off everything connected with it ; every- 
thing and — everybody.” 

“ Yes,” echoed the doctor ; “ everything and — 
everybody. Er — let me see his basket, please.” 

81 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

Four days later Mrs. Kendall and her daughter 
Margaret left Hough tons ville for a month’s stay 
in the White Mountains. From the rear window 
of a certain law office in town a boy of fourteen 
disconsolately watched the long train that was 
rapidly bearing them out of sight. 

“ An’ I hain’t seen her but once since I give her 
the basket,” he was muttering ; “ an’ then I couldn’t 
speak to her — her mother whisked her off so quick. 
Plague take that basket — wish’t I’d never see it ! 
An’ I worked so hard over it, ’cause she said she 
liked ’em made out o’ peach-stones ! She said 
she did.” 


82 


CHAPTER X 


I T was the day before Christmas. For eight 
weeks Margaret had been at Elmhurst, Miss 
Dole’s school in the Berkshires. School — 
Miss Dole’s school — had been something of a sur- 
prise to Margaret ; and Margaret had been de- 
cidedly a surprise to the school. Margaret was 
not used to young misses who fared sumptuously 
every day, and who yet complained because a 
favorite ice cream or a pet kind of cake was not 
always forthcoming ; and Miss Dole’s pupils were 
not used to a little girl who questioned their right 
to be well-fed and well-clothed, and who supple- 
mented this questioning with distressing stories of 
other little girls who had little to wear and less to 
eat day after day, and week after week. 

Margaret had not gone to Elmhurst without a 
struggleon the part of her mother. To Mrs. Ken- 
dall it seemed cruel to be separated so soon from 
the little daughter who had but just been restored 
to her hungry arms after four long years of almost 
hopeless waiting. On the other hand, there were 

83 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


Margaret’s own interests to be thought of. School, 
certainly, was a necessity, unless there should be 
a governess at home ; and of this last Mrs. Ken- 
dall did not approve. She particularly wished 
Margaret to have the companionship of happy, 
well-bred girls of her own age. The Houghtons- 
ville public school was hardly the place, in Mrs. 
Kendall’s opinion, for a little maid with Margaret’s 
somewhat peculiar ideas as to matters and things. 
There was Bobby, too — Bobby, the constant re- 
minder in word and deed of the city streets and 
misery that Mrs. Kendall particularly wished for- 
gotten. Yes, there certainly was Bobby to be 
thought of — and to be avoided. It was because 
of all this, therefore, that Margaret had been sent 
to Elmhurst. She had gone there straight from the 
great hotel in the mountains, where she and her 
mother had been spending a few weeks ; so she 
had not seen Houghtonsville since September. It 
was the Christmas vacation now, and she was go- 
ing back — back to the house with the stone lions 
and the big play room where had lain for so long 
the little woolly dog of her babyhood. 

It was not of the stone lions, nor the play room 
that Margaret was thinking, however ; it was of 

84 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


something much more important and more— de- 
lightful, the girls said. At all events, it was won- 
derfully exciting, and promised all sorts of charm- 
ing possibilities in the way of music, pretty clothes, 
and good things to eat — again according to the 
girls. 

It was a wedding. 

Margaret’s idea of marriage had undergone a 
decided change in the last few weeks. The envi- 
ous delight of the girls over the fact that she was 
to be so intimately connected with a wedding, 
together with their absorbing interest in every 
detail, had been far more convincing than all of 
Mrs. Kendall’s anxious teachings : marriage might 
not be such a calamity, after all. 

It had come as somewhat of a shock to Mar- 
garet — this envious delight of her companions. 
She had looked upon her mother’s marriage as 
something to be deplored ; something to be toler- 
ated, to be sure, since for some unaccountable 
reason her mother wanted it ; but, still neverthe- 
less an evil. There was the contract, to be sure, 
and the doctor had signed it without a murmur ; 
but Margaret doubted the efficacy of even that at 
times — it would take something more than a con- 

85 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


tract, certainly, if the doctor should prove to be 
anything like Mike Whalen for a husband. 

The doctor would not be like Mike Whalen, 
however — so the girls said. They had never seen 
any husbands that were like him, for that matter. 
They knew nothing whatever about husbands that 
shook and beat their wives and banged them 
around. All this they declared unhesitatingly, 
and with no little indignation in response to 
Margaret’s somewhat doubting questions. There 
were the story-books, too. The girls all had them, 
and each book was full of fair ladies and brave 
knights, and of beautiful princesses who married 
the king — and who wanted to marry him, too, 
and who would have felt very badly if they could 
not have married him ! 

In the face of so overwhelming an array of evi- 
dence, Margaret almost lost her fears — marriage 
might be very desirable, after all. And so it was 
a very happy little girl that left Elmhurst on the 
day before Christmas and, in care of one of the 
teachers, journeyed toward Houghtonsville, where 
were waiting the play room, the great stone lions, 
and the wonderful wedding, to say nothing of the 
dear loving mother herself. 

86 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


It was not quite the same Margaret that had 
left Houghtonsville a few months before. Even 
those short weeks had not been without their in- 
fluence. 

Margaret, in accordance with Mrs. Kendall’s 
urgent request, had been the special charge of 
every teacher at Elmhurst ; and every teacher 
knew the story of the little girl’s life, as well as 
just what they all had now to battle against. 
Everything that was good and beautiful was kept 
constantly before her eyes, and so far as was 
possible, everything that was the reverse of all 
this was kept from her sight, and from being dis- 
cussed in her presence. She learned of wonder- 
ful countries across the sea, and of the people 
who lived in them. She studied about high 
mountains and great rivers, and she was shown 
pictures of kings and queens and palaces. Sys- 
tematically and persistently she was led along a 
way that did not know the Alley, and that did 
not recognize that there was in the world any 
human creature who was poor, or sick, or 
hungry. 

It is little wonder, then, that she came to ques- 
tion less and less the luxury all about her ; that 
87 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


she wore the pretty dresses and dainty shoes, and 
ate the food provided, with a resignation that was 
strangely like content ; and that she talked less 
and less of Patty, the twins, and the Alley. 


88 


CHAPTER XI 



HRISTMAS was a wonderful day at Five 


Oaks, certainly to Margaret. First there 


was the joy of skipping, bare-toed, across 


the room to where the long black stockings hung 
from the mantel. In the gray dawn of the early 
morning its bulging knobbiness looked delight- 
fully mysterious ; and never were presents half so 
entrancing as those drawn from its black depths 
by Margaret’s small eager fingers. 

Later in the morning came the sleigh-ride be- 
hind the doctor’s span of bays, and then there was 
the delicious dinner followed by the games and 
the frolics and the quiet hour with mother. Still 
later the house began to fill with guests and then 
came the wedding, with Mrs. Kendall all in soft 
gray and looking radiantly happy on the doctor’s 
arm. 

It was a simple ceremony and soon over, and 
then came the long line of beaming friends and 
neighbors to wish the bride and groom joy and 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


God-speed. Margaret, standing a little apart by 
the dining-room door, felt a sudden pull at her 
sleeve. She turned quickly and looked straight 
into Bobby McGinnis’s eyes. 

“ Bobby, why, Bobby I ” she welcomed joy- 
ously ; but Bobby put his finger to his lips. 

“ Sh-h ! ” he cautioned ; then, peremptorily, 
“ Come.” And he led the way through the de- 
serted dining-room to a little room off the side- 
hall where the gloom made his presence almost 
indiscernible. ‘‘There !” he sighed in relief. “I 
fetched ye, didn’t I?” 

Margaret frowned. 

“But, Bobby,” she remonstrated, “why — what 
are you doing out here, all in the dark?” 

“Seein’ you.” 

“ Seeing me 1 But I was in there, where ’twas 
all light and pretty, and you could see me lots bet- 
ter there ! ” 

“Yes, but I wa’n’t there,” retorted Bobby, 
grimly ; then he added : “ ’Twa’n’t my party, ye 
see, an’ I wa’n’t invited. But I wanted ter see ye 
— an’ I did, too.” 

Margaret was silent. 

“ Mebbe ye want ter go back now yerself,” ob- 

90 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


served Bobby, gloomily, after a time. “ ’Tain’t so 
pretty here, I’ll own.” 

Margaret did want to go back, and she almost 
said so, but something in the boy’s voice silenced 
the words on her lips. 

“ Oh, I’ll stay, ’course,” she murmured, shifting 
about uneasily on her little white-slippered feet. 

Bobby roused himself. 

“ Here, take a chair,” he proposed, pushing 
toward her a low stool ; “ an’ I’ll set here on the 
winder sill. Nice night ; ain’t it?” 

“Yes, ’tis.” Margaret sat down, carefully 
spreading her skirts. 

There was a long silence. Through the half- 
open door came a shaft of light and the sound of 
distant voices. Bobby was biting his finger nails, 
and Margaret was wondering just how she could get 
back to the drawing-room without hurting the feel- 
ings of her unbidden guest. At last the boy spoke. 

“ Mebbe when we’re grown up we’ll get married, 
too,” he blurted out, saying the one thing he had 
intended not to say. He bit his tongue angrily, 
but the next minute he almost fell off the window 
sill in his amazement — the little girl had sprung to 
her feet and clapped her hands. 

9i 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ Bobby, could we?” she cried. 

“ Sure ! ” rejoined Bobby with easy nonchalance. 
“ Why not?” 

“ And there’d be flowers and music and lots of 
people to see us ? ” 

“ Heaps ! ” promised Bobby. 

“ Oh-h ! ” sighed Margaret ecstatically. “ And 
then we’ll go traveling ’way over to London and 
Paris and Egypt and see the Alps.” 

“Huh?” The voice of the prospective young 
bridegroom sounded a little uncertain. 

“We’ll go traveling to see things, you know,” 
reiterated Margaret. “ There’s such a lot of things 
I want to see.” 

“ Oh, yes, we’ll go traveling ” assured Bobby, 
promptly, wondering all the while if he could re- 
member just where his mother’s geography was. 
He should have need of it after he got home that 
night. London, Paris, Egypt, and the Alps — it 
might be well to look up the way to get there, at 
all events. 

“ I think maybe now I’ll go back,” said Mar- 
garet, with sudden stiffness. “They might be 
looking for me. Good-bye.” 

“ Oh, I say, Maggie,” called Bobby, eagerly, 
92 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ when folks is engaged they ” But only the 

swish of white skirts answered him, and there was 
nothing for him to do but disconsolately to let him- 
self out the side door before any one came and 
found him. 

“ And I’m going to get married, too,” said Mar- 
garet to her mother half an hour later. 

“ You’re going to get married 1 ” 

“Yes; to Bobby, you know.” 

The newly-made bride sat down suddenly, and 
threw a quick look at her husband. 

“ To Bobby ! ” she exclaimed. “ Why, when — 
where — Bobby wasn’t here.” 

“ No,” smiled Margaret. “ He said he wasn’t 
invited, but he came. We fixed it all up a little 
while ago. We’re going to London and Paris and 
Egypt and see the Alps.” 


CHAPTER XII 


T HE great dining-room at Hilcrest, the old 
Spencer homestead, was perhaps the 
pleasantest room in the house. The 
house itself crowned the highest hill that overlooked 
the town, and its dining-room windows and the 
veranda without, commanded a view of the river 
for miles, just where the valley was the greenest 
and the most beautiful. On the other side of the 
veranda which ran around three sides of the house, 
one might see the town with its myriad roofs and 
tall chimneys ; but although these same tall chim- 
neys represented the wealth that made possible the 
great Spencer estate, yet it was the side of the 
veranda overlooking the green valley that was the 
most popular with the family. It was said, to be 
sure, that old Jacob Spencer, who built the house, 
and who laid the foundations for the Spencer 
millions, had preferred the side that overlooked the 
town ; and that he spent long hours gloating over 
the visible results of his thrift and enterprise. But 
old Jacob was dead now, and his son’s sons reigned 
94 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


instead ; and his son’s sons, no matter how much 
they might value the whiz and whir and smoke of 
the town, preferred, when at rest, to gaze upon 
green hills and far-reaching meadows. This was, 
indeed, typical of the Spencer code — the farther 
away they could get from the oil that made the 
machinery of life run easily and noiselessly, the 
better pleased they were. 

The dining-room looked particularly pleasant 
this July evening. A gentle breeze stirred the 
curtains at the open windows, and the setting sun 
peeped through the vines outside and glistened 
on the old family plate. Three generations of 
Spencers looked down from the walls on the two 
men and the woman sitting at the great mahogany 
table. The two men and the woman, however, 
were not looking at the sunlight, the vines, or the 
swaying curtains ; they were looking at each 
other, and their eyes were troubled and question- 
ing. 

“You say she is coming next week?” asked 
the younger man, glancing at the letter in the 
other’s hand. 

“ Yes. Tuesday afternoon.” 

“ But, Frank, this is so — sudden,” remonstrated 
95 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


the young fellow, laughing a little as he uttered 
the trite phrase. “ How does it happen that I’ve 
heard so little of this young lady who is to be 
so unceremoniously dropped into our midst next 
Tuesday?” 

Frank Spencer made an impatient gesture that 
showed how great was his perturbation. 

“ Come, come, Ned, don’t be foolish,” he pro- 
tested. “You know very well that your brother’s 
stepdaughter has been my ward for a dozen 
years.” 

“Yes, but that is all I know,” rejoined the 
young man, quietly. “ I have never seen her, 
and scarcely ever heard of her, and yet you 
expect me to take as a matter of course this 
strange young woman who is none of our kith 
nor kin, and yet who is to be one of us from 
henceforth forevermore ! ” 

“ The boy is right,” interposed the low voice of 
the woman across the table. “ Ned doesn’t know 
anything about her. He was a mere child him- 
self when it all happened, and he’s been away 
from home most of the time since. For that mat- 
ter, we don’t know much about her ourselves.” 

“We certainly don’t,” sighed Frank Spencer; 

96 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


then he raised his head and squared his shoul- 
ders. “ See here, good people, this will never do 
in the world,” he asserted with sudden authority. 
“ I have offered the hospitality of this house to a 
homeless, orphan girl, and she has accepted it. 
There is nothing for us to do now but to try to 
make her happy. After all, we needn’t worry — it 
may turn out that she will make us happy.” 

“ But what is she ? How does she look ? ” cate- 
chized Ned. 

His brother shook his head. 

“ I don’t know,” he replied simply. 

“You don’t know ! But, surely you have seen 
her!” 

“Yes, oh, yes, I have seen her, once or twice, 
but Margaret Kendall is not a girl whom to see 
is to know ; besides, the circumstances were such 
that — well, I might as well tell the story from the 
beginning, particularly as you know so little of it 
yourself.” 

Frank paused, and looked at the letter in his 
hand. After a minute he laid it gently down. 
When he spoke his voice was not quite steady. 

“ Our brother Harry was a physician, as you 
know, Ned. You were twelve years old when he 
97 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


married a widow by the name of Kendall who 
lived in Houghtonsville where he had been prac- 
tising. As it chanced, none of us went to the 
wedding. You were taken suddenly ill, and 
neither Della nor myself would leave you, and 
father was in Bermuda that winter for his health. 
Mrs. Kendall had a daughter, Margaret, about 
ten years old, who was at school somewhere in 
the Berkshires. It was to that school that I went 
when the terrible news came that Harry and his 
new wife had lost their lives in that awful railroad 
accident. That was the first time that I saw 
Margaret. 

“The poor child was, of course, heartbroken 
and inconsolable ; but her grief took a peculiar 
turn. The mere sight of me drove her almost 
into hysterics. She would have nothing whatever 
to do with me, or with any of her stepfather’s 
people. She reasoned that if her mother had not 
married, there would have been no wedding jour- 
ney ; and if there had been no wedding journey 
there would have been no accident, and that her 
mother would then have been alive, and well. 

“ Arguments, pleadings, and entreaties were in 
vain. She would not listen to me, or even see 
98 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


me. She held her hands before her face and 
screamed if I so much as came into the room. 
She was nothing but a child, of course, and not 
even a normal one at that, for she had had a very 
strange life. At five she was lost in New York 
City, and for four years she lived on the streets 
and in the sweat shops, enduring almost unbe- 
lievable poverty and hardships.” 

“ By Jove ! ” exclaimed Ned under his breath. 

“ It was only seven or eight months before the 
wedding that she was found,” went on Frank, 
“ and of course the influence of the wild life she 
had led was still with her more or less, and made 
her not easily subject to control. There was 
nothing for me to do but to leave the poor little 
thing where she was, particularly as there seemed 
to be no other place for her. She would not 
come with me, and she had no people of her 
own to whom she could turn for love and sym- 
pathy. 

“As you know, poor Harry was conscious for 
some hours after the accident, long enough to 
make his will and dictate the letter to me, leaving 
Margaret to my care — boy though I was. I was 
only twenty, you see ; but, really, there was no 
99 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


one else to whom he could leave her. That was 
something over thirteen years ago. Margaret 
must be about twenty-three now.” 

“ And you’ve not seen her since ? ” There was 
keen reproach in Ned’s voice. 

Frank smiled. 

“ Yes, I’ve seen her twice,” he replied. “ And 
of course I’ve written to her many times, and have 
always kept in touch with those she was with. 
She stayed at the Berkshire school five years ; 
then — with some fear and trembling, I own — I 
went to see her. I found a grave-eyed little miss 
who answered my questions with studied polite- 
ness, and who agreed without comment to the 
proposition that I place her in a school where she 
might remain until she was ready for college — 
should she elect to go to college.” 

“ But her vacations — did she never come then ?” 
questioned Ned. 

“ No. At first I did not ask her, of course. It 
was out of the question, as she was feeling. Some 
one of her teachers always looked out for her. 
They all pitied her, and naturally did everything 
they could for her, as did her mates at school. 
Later, when I did dare to ask her to come here, 


IOO 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


she always refused. She wrote me stiff little notes 
in which she informed me that she was to spend 
the holidays with some Blanche or Dorothy or 
Mabel of her acquaintance. 

“ She was nineteen when I saw her again. I 
found now a charming, graceful girl, with pe- 
culiarly haunting blue eyes, and heavy coils of 
bronze-gold hair that kinked and curled about 
her little pink ears in a most distracting fashion. 
Even now, though, she would not come to my 
home. She was going abroad with friends. The 
party included an irreproachable chaperon, so of 
course I had nothing to say ; while as for money 
— she had all of her mother’s not inconsiderable 
fortune besides everything that had been her step- 
father’s ; so of course there was no question on 
that score. 

“ In the fall she entered college, and there she 
has been ever since, spending her vacations as 
usual with friends, generally traveling. When 
she came of age she specially requested me to 
make no change in her affairs, but to regard her- 
self as my ward for the present, just as she had 
been. So I still call myself her guardian. This 
June was her graduation. I had forgotten the 


IOI 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


fact until I received the little engraved invitation 
a week or two ago. I thought of running down 
for it, but I couldn’t get away very well, and — 
well, I didn’t go, that’s all. But I did write and 
ask her to make this house her home, and here is 
her reply. She thanks me, and will come next 
Tuesday. There 1 now you have it. You know 
all that I do.” And Frank Spencer leaned back 
in his chair with a long sigh. 

“ But I don’t know yet what she’s like,” ob- 
jected Ned. 

“ Neither do I.” 

“ Oh, but you’ve seen her.” 

“Yes; and how? Do you suppose that those 
two or three meetings were very illuminating? 
No. I’ve been told this, however,” he added. 
“ It seems that immediately after her return to 
her mother’s home she had the most absurd 
quixotic notions about sharing all she had with 
every ragamuffin in New York. She even car- 
ried her distress over their condition to such an 
extent that her mother really feared for her reason. 
All her teachers, therefore, were instructed to keep 
from her all further knowledge of poverty and 
trouble ; and particularly to instil into her mind 


102 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


the fact that there was really in the world a great 
deal of pleasure and happiness.’ 1 

Over across the table Mrs. Merideth shivered a 
little. 

“ Dear me ! ” she sighed. “ I do hope the child 
is well over those notions. I shouldn’t want her 
to mix up here with the mill people. I never did 
quite like those settlement women, anyway, and 
only think what might happen with one in one’s 
own family ! ” 

“I don’t think I should worry, sister sweet,” 
laughed Frank. “ I haven’t seen much of the 
young lady, but I think I have seen enough for 
that. I fancy the teachers succeeded in their mis- 
sion. As near as I can judge, Miss Margaret 
Kendall does not resemble your dreaded ‘ settle- 
ment worker’ in the least. However, we’ll wait 
and see.” 


103 


CHAPTER XIII 


T HERE was something of the precision of 
clockwork in matters and things at Hil- 
crest. A large corps of well-trained 
servants in charge of an excellent housekeeper 
left Mrs. Meredith free to go, and come, and en- 
tertain as she liked. For fifteen years now she 
had been mistress of Hilcrest, ever since her 
mother had died, in fact. Widowed herself at 
twenty-two after a year of married life, and the 
only daughter in a family of four children, she had 
been like a second mother to her two younger 
brothers. Harry, the eldest brother, had early 
left the home roof to study medicine. Frank, 
barely twenty when his brother Harry lost his life, 
had even then pleased his father by electing the 
mills as his life-work. And now, five years after 
that father’s death, Ned was sharing his brother 
Frank’s care and responsibility in keeping the 
great wheels turning and the great chimneys 
smoking in the town below. 

104 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


Della Merideth was essentially a woman who liked 
— and who usually obtained — the strawberries and 
cream of life. Always accustomed to luxury, she 
demanded as a matter of course rich clothing and 
dainty food. That there were people in the world 
whose clothing was coarse and whose food was 
scanty, she well knew ; and knowing this she was 
careful that her donations to the Home Missionary 
Society and the Woman’s Guild were prompt and 
liberal. Beyond this her duty did not extend, she 
was sure. As for any personal interest in the re- 
cipients of her alms, she had none whatever ; and 
would, indeed, have deemed it both unnecessary 
and unladylike that she should have had such 
interest. Her eyes were always on the hills and 
meadows on the west side of the house, and even 
her way to and from Hilcrest was carefully 
planned so that she might avoid so far as was 
possible, the narrow, ill-smelling streets of the 
town on the other side of the hill. 

Frank Spencer was a hard-headed, far-seeing 
man of business — inside the office of Spencer & 
Spencer ; outside, he was a delightful gentleman 
— a little grave, perhaps, for his thirty-three years, 
but none the less a favorite, particularly with 

105 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


anxious mothers having marriageable, but rather 
light-headed, daughters on their hands. His eyes 
were brown, his nose was straight and long, and 
his mouth firm and clean-cut. His whole appear- 
ance was that of a man sure of himself — and of 
others. To Frank Spencer the vast interests of 
Spencer & Spencer, as represented by the huge 
mills that lined the river bank, were merely one 
big machine ; and the hundreds of men, women, 
and children that dragged their weary way in and 
out the great doors were but so many cogs in the 
wheels. That the cogs had hearts that ached and 
heads that throbbed did not occur to him. He 
was interested only in the smooth and silent run- 
ning of the wheels themselves. 

Ned was the baby of the house. In spite of his 
length of limb and breadth of shoulder he was 
still looked upon by his brother and sister as little 
more than a boy. School, college, and a year of 
travel had trained his brain, toughened his mus- 
cles, and browned his skin, and left him full of 
enthusiasm for his chosen work, which just now 
meant helping to push Spencer & Spencer to the 
top notch of power and prosperity. 

For five years the two brothers and the widowed 
106 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


sister in the great house that crowned Prospect 
Hill, had been by themselves save for the servants 
and the occasional guests — and the Spencers were 
a clannish family, so people said. However that 
might have been, there certainly was not one of 
the three that was not conscious of a vague fear 
and a well-defined regret, whenever there came 
the thought of this strange young woman who 
was so soon to enter their lives. 

To be a Spencer was to be hospitable, however, 
and the preparations for the expected guest were 
prompt and generous. By Tuesday the entire 
house, even to its inmates, was ready with a cor- 
dial welcome for the orphan girl. 

In his big touring car Frank Spencer went to 
the station to meet his ward. With him was Mrs. 
Merideth, and her eyes, fully as anxiously as his, 
swept the crowd of passengers alighting from the 
long train. Almost simultaneously they saw the 
tall young woman in gray ; and Mrs. Merideth 
sighed with relief as Frank gave a quick exclama- 
tion and hurried forward. 

“At least she looks like a lady,” Mrs. Merideth 
murmured, as she followed her brother. 

“ You are Margaret Kendall, I am sure,” Frank 
107 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


was saying ; and Mrs. Merideth saw the light leap 
to the girl’s eyes as she gave him her hand. 

‘‘And you are Mr. Spencer, my guardian — 
‘ Uncle Frank.’ Am I still to call you ‘ Uncle 
Frank’ ? ” Mrs. Merideth heard a clear voice say. 
The next moment she found herself looking into 
what she instantly thought were the most won- 
derful eyes she had ever seen. 

“And I am Mrs. Merideth, my dear — ‘Aunt 
Della,’ I hope,” she said gently, before her brother 
could speak. 

“ Thank you ; and it will be ‘ Aunt Della,’ I’m 
sure,” smiled the girl; and again Mrs. Merideth 
marveled at the curious charm of the eyes that 
met her own. 


108 


CHAPTER XIV 


T HE big touring car skirted the edge of 
the town, avoiding as usual the narrower 
streets, and turning as soon as possible 
into a wide, elm-bordered avenue. 

“We have to climb to reach Hilcrest,” called 
Frank over his shoulder, as the car began a steep 
ascent. 

“ Then you must have a view as a reward/’ re- 
joined Margaret. 

“We do,” declared Mrs. Merideth, — “but not 
here,” she laughed, as the car plunged into the 
depths of a miniature forest. 

It was a silent drive, in the main. The man in 
front had the car to guide. The two women in 
the tonneau dropped an occasional word, but for 
the most part their eyes were fixed on bird or 
flower, or on the shifting gleams of sunlight 
through the trees. The very fact that there was 
no constraint in this silence argued well for the 
place the orphan girl had already found in the 
hearts of her two companions. 

109 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


Not until the top of the hill was reached, and 
the car swung around the broad curve of the 
driveway, did the full beauty of the panorama be- 
fore her burst on Margaret’s eyes. She gave a 
low cry of delight. 

“ Oh, how beautiful — how wonderfully, wonder- 
fully beautiful!” she exclaimed. 

Her eyes were on the silver sheen of the river 
trailing along the green velvet of the valley far 
below — she had turned her back on the red-roofed 
town with its smoking chimneys. 

The sun was just setting when a little later she 
walked across the lawn to where a rustic seat 
marked the abrupt descent of the hill. Far be- 
low the river turned sharply. On the left it 
flowed through a canon of many-windowed walls, 
and under a pall of smoke. On the right it 
washed the shores of flowering meadows, and 
mirrored the sunset sky in its depths. 

So absorbed was Margaret in the beauty of the 
scene that she did not notice the figure of a man 
coming up the winding path at her left. Even 
Ned Spencer himself did not see the girl until he 
was almost upon her. Then he stopped short, 
his lips breaking into a noiseless “ Well, by Jove ! ” 


no 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


A twig snapped under his foot at his next step, 
and the girl turned. 

“ Oh, it’s you,” she said absorbedly. “ I couldn’t 
wait. I came right out to see it,” she finished, 
her eyes once more on the valley below. The 
brothers, at first glance, looked wonderfully alike, 
and Margaret had unhesitatingly taken Ned to be 
Frank. 

Ned did not speak. He, too, like his sister an 
hour before, had fallen under the spell of a pair of 
wondrous blue eyes. 

“ It seems to me,” said the girl, slowly, “ that 
nothing in the world would ever trouble me if I 
had that to look at.” 

“It seems so to me, too,” agreed Ned — but he 
was not looking at the view. 

The girl turned sharply. She gave a little cry 
of dismay. The embarrassed red flew to her 
cheeks. 

“ Oh, you — you are not Uncle Frank at all ! ” 
she stammered. 

A sudden light of comprehension broke over 
Ned’s face. And so this was Margaret. How 
stupid of him not to have known at once ! 

He laughed lightly and made a low bow. 


hi 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ I have not that honor,” he confessed. “ But 
you — you must be Miss Kendall.” 

“And you?” 

“I?” Ned smiled quizzically. “I? Oh, I am 
— your Uncle Ned !” he announced ; and his voice 
and his emphasis told her that he fully appreciated 
his privilege in being twenty-five — and uncle to a 
niece of twenty-three. 


1 12 


CHAPTER XV 


B Y the end of the month the family at Hil- 
crest wondered how they had ever lived 
before they saw the world and everything 
in it through the blue eyes of Margaret Kendall 
— the world and everything in it seemed so much 
more beautiful now ! 

Never were the long mornings in the garden 
or on the veranda so delightful to Mrs. Merideth 
as now with a bright, sympathetic girl to laugh, 
chat, or keep silent as the whim of the moment 
dictated ; and never were the summer evenings so 
charming to Frank as now when one might lie 
back in one’s chair or hammock and listen to a 
dreamy nocturn or a rippling waltz-song, and 
realize that the musician was no bird of passage, 
but that she was one’s own beloved ward and was 
even now at home. As for Ned — never were the 
golf links in so fine a shape, nor the tennis court 
and croquet ground so alluring ; and never had he 
known before how many really delightful trips 
there were within a day’s run for his motor-car. 
”3 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


And yet 

“Della, do you think Margaret is happy ?” 
asked Frank one day, as he and his sister and 
Ned were watching the sunset from the west ve- 
randa. Margaret had gone into the house, plead- 
ing a headache as an excuse for leaving them. 

Della was silent. It was Ned who answered, 
indignantly. 

“ Why, Frank, of course she’s happy ! ” 

“ I’m not so — sure,” hesitated Frank. Then 
Mrs. Merideth spoke. 

“ She’s happy, yes ; but she’s — restless.” 

Frank leaned forward. 

“ That’s it exactly,” he declared with convic- 
tion. “ She’s restless — and what’s the matter ? 
That’s what I want to know.” 

“ Nonsense ! it’s just high spirits,” cut in Ned, 
with an impatient gesture. “ Margaret’s perfectly 
happy. Doesn’t she laugh and sing and motor 
and play tennis all day ? ” 

“Yes,” retorted his brother, “she does ; but be- 
hind it all there’s a curious something that I can’t 
get at. It is as if she were — were trying to get 
away from something — something within herself.” 

Mrs. Merideth nodded her head. 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ I know,” she said. “ I’ve seen it, too.” 

“ Ah, you have ! ” Frank turned to his sister 
with a troubled frown. “ Well, what is it?” 

“ I don’t know.” Mrs. Merideth paused, her 
eyes on the distant sky-line. “ I have thought — 
once or twice,” she resumed slowly, “that Mar- 
garet might be — in love.” 

“ In love ! ” cried two voices in shocked amaze- 
ment. 

Had Mrs. Merideth been observant she might 
have seen the sudden paling of a smooth-shaven 
face, and the quick clinching of a strong white 
hand that rested on the arm of a chair near her ; 
but she was not observant — in this case, at least — 
and she went on quietly. 

“Yes; but on the whole I’m inclined to doubt 
that now.” 

“ Oh, you are,” laughed Ned, a little nervously. 
His brother did not speak. 

“ Yes,” repeated Mrs. Merideth ; “ but I haven’t 
decided yet what it is.” 

“Well, I for one don’t believe it’s anything,” 
declared Ned, stubbornly. “ To me she seems 
happy, and I believe she is.” 

Frank shook his head. 


“5 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ No,” he said. “ By her own confession she 
has been flitting from one place to another all 
over the world ; and, though perhaps she does not 
realize it herself, I believe her coming here was 
merely another effort on her part to get away 
from this something — this something that while 
within herself, perhaps, is none the less pursuing 
her, and making her restless and unhappy.” 

“ But what can it be?” argued Ned. “She’s 
not so different from other girls — only nicer. She 
likes good times and pretty clothes, and is always 
ready for any fun that’s going. I’m sure it isn’t 
anything about those socialistic notions that Della 
used to worry about,” he added laughingly. 
“ She’s got well over those — if she ever had them, 
indeed. I don’t believe she’s looked toward the 
mills since she’s been here — much less wanted to 
know anything about the people that work in 
them ! ” 

“ No, it isn’t that,” agreed Frank. 

“ Perhaps it isn’t anything,” broke in Della, 
with sudden cheeriness. “ Maybe it is a little dull 
here for her after all her gay friends and interest- 
ing travels. Perhaps she is a little homesick, but 
is trying to make us think everything is all right, 
116 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


and she overdoes it. Anyway, we’ll ask some 
nice people up for a week or two. I fancy we all 
need livening up. We’re getting morbid. Come, 
whom shall we have ? ” 


CHAPTER XVI 


I T had been a particularly delightful day with 
the Hilcrest house-party. They had gone 
early in the morning to Silver Lake for a 
picnic. A sail on the lake, a delicious luncheon, 
and a climb up “ Hilltop ” had filled every hour 
with enjoyment until five o’clock when they had 
started for home. 

Two of the guests had brought their own 
motor-cars to Hilcrest, and it was in one of these 
that Miss Kendall was making the homeward 
trip. 

“And you call this a ‘runabout,’ Mr. Bran- 
don ? ” she laughed gaily, as the huge car darted 
forward. “ I should as soon think of having an 
elephant for an errand boy.” 

Brandon laughed. 

“ But just wait until you see the elephant get 
over the ground,” he retorted. “And, after all, 
the car isn’t so big when you compare it with 
Harlow’s or Frank’s. It only seats two, you 
118 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


know, but its engine is quite as powerful as either 
of theirs. I want you to see what it can do,” he 
finished, as he began gradually to increase their 
speed. 

For some time neither spoke. The road ran 
straight ahead in a narrowing band of white that 
lost itself in a thicket of green far in the distance. 
Yet almost immediately — it seemed to Margaret — 
the green was at their right and their left, and the 
road had unwound another white length of ribbon 
that flung itself across the valley and up the oppo- 
site hill to the sky-line. 

Houses, trees, barns, and bushes rushed by like 
specters, and the soft August air swept by her 
cheeks like a November gale. Not until the op- 
posite hill was reached, however, did Brandon 
slacken speed. 

“ You see,” he exulted, “ we can just annihilate 
space with this ! ” 

“ You certainly can,” laughed Margaret, a little 
hysterically. “ And you may count yourself lucky 
if you don’t annihilate anything else.” 

Brandon brought the car almost to a stop. 

“ I was a brute. I frightened you,” he cried 
with quick contrition. 

119 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


The girl shook her head. A strange light came 
to her eyes. 

“ No ; I liked it,” she answered. “ I liked it — 
too well. Do you know ? I never dare to run a 
car by myself — very much. I learned how, and 
had a little runabout of my own at college, and I 
run one now sometimes. But it came over me 
one day — the power there was under my fingers. 
Almost involuntarily I began to let it out. I went 
faster and faster — and yet I did not go half fast 
enough. Something seemed to be pushing me 
on, urging me to even greater and greater speed. 

I wanted to get away, away ! Then I came 

to myself. I was miles from where I should have 
been, and in a locality I knew nothing about. I 
had no little difficulty in getting back to where I 
belonged, besides having a fine or two to pay, I 
believe. I was frightened and ashamed, for every- 
where I heard of stories of terrified men, women, 
children, and animals, and of how I had narrowly 
escaped having death itself to answer for as a result 
of my mad race through the country. And yet — 
even now — to-day, I felt that wild exhilaration of 
motion. I did not want to stop. I wanted to go 
on and on ” She paused suddenly, and fell 


120 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


back in her seat. “ You see,” she laughed with a 
complete change of manner, “ I am not to be 
trusted as a chauffeur.” 

“ I see,” nodded Brandon, a little soberly ; then, 
with a whimsical smile : “ Perhaps I should want 

the brakes shifted to my side of the car — if I rode 
with you 1 . . . But, after all, when you come 

right down to the solid comfort of motoring, you 
can take it best by jogging along like this at a 
good sensible rate of speed that will let you see 
something of the country you are passing through. 
Look at those clouds. We shall have a gorgeous 
sunset to-night.” 

It was almost an hour later that Brandon stopped 
his car where two roads crossed, and looked be- 
hind him. 

“ By George, where are those people ? ” he 
queried. 

“ But we started first, and we came rapidly for 
a time,” reminded the girl. 

“ I know, but we’ve been simply creeping for the 
last mile or two,” returned the man. “ I slowed up 
purposely to fall in behind the rest. I’m not so sure 
I know the way from here — but perhaps you do.” 
And he turned his eyes questioningly to hers. 


I 2 1 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ Not I,” she laughed. “ But I thought you 
did.” 

“ So did I,” he grumbled. “I’ve been over this 
road enough in times past. Oh, I can get back 
to Hilcrest all right,” he added reassuringly. 
“ It’s only that I don’t remember which is the best 
way. One road takes us through the town and 
is not so pleasant. I wanted to avoid that if pos- 
sible.” 

“ Never mind ; let’s go on,” proposed the girl. 
“ It’s getting late, and we might miss them even 
if we waited. They may have taken another road 
farther back. If they thought you knew the way 
they wouldn’t feel in duty bound to keep track of 
us, and they may hav'e already reached home. I 
don’t mind a bit which road we take.” 

“ All right,” acquiesced Brandon. “ Just as you 
say. I think this is the one. Anyhow, we’ll try 
it.” And he turned his car to the left. 

The sun had dipped behind the hills, and the 
quick chill of an August evening was in the air. 
Margaret shivered and reached for her coat. The 
road wound in and out through a scrubby growth 
of trees, then turned sharply and skirted the base 
of a steep hill. Beyond the next turn it dropped 


122 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


in a gentle descent and ran between wide open 
fields. A house appeared, then another and an- 
other. A man and a woman walked along the 
edge of the road and stopped while the automo- 
bile passed. The houses grew more frequent, and 
children and small dogs scurried across the road 
to a point of safety. 

“ By George, I believe we’ve got the wrong 
road now,” muttered Brandon with a frown. 
“ Shall we go back ? ” 

“No, no,” demurred the girl. “What does it 
matter? It’s only another way around, and per- 
haps no longer than the other.” 

The road turned and dropped again. The hill 
was steeper now. The air grew heavy and fanned 
Margaret’s cheek with a warm breath as if from an 
oven. Unconsciously she loosened the coat at 
her throat. 

“ Why, how warm it is ! ” she exclaimed. 

“Yes. I fancy there’s no doubt now where 
we are,” frowned Brandon. “ I thought as 
much,” he finished as the car swung around a 
curve. 

Straight ahead the road ran between lines of 
squat brown houses with men, women, and chil- 
123 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


dren swarming on the door-steps or hanging on 
the fences. Beyond rose tier upon tier of red and 
brown roofs flanked on the left by the towering 
chimneys of the mills. Still farther beyond and a 
little to the right, just where the sky was reddest, 
rose the terraced slopes of Prospect Hill crowned 
by the towers and turrets of Hilcrest. 

“We can at least see where we want to be,” 
laughed Brandon. “Fine old place — shows up 
great against that sky ; doesn’t it ? ” 

The girl at his side did not answer. Her eyes 
had widened a little, and her cheeks had lost their 
bright color. She was not looking at the pile of 
brick and stone on top of Prospect Hill, but at the 
ragged little urchins and pallid women that fell 
back from the roadway before the car. The boys 
yelled derisively, and a baby cried. Margaret 
shrank back in her seat, and Brandon, turning 
quickly, saw the look on her face. His own jaw 
set into determined lines. 

“We’ll be out of this soon, Miss Kendall,” he 
assured her. “You mustn’t mind them. As if it 
wasn’t bad enough to come here anyway but that 
I must needs come now just when the day-shift is 
getting home ! ” 


124 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ The day-shift ? ” 

“Yes; the hands who work days, you know.” 

“ But don’t they all work — days ? ” 

Brandon laughed. 

“ Hardly ! ” 

“You mean, they work nights?" 

“Yes.” He threw a quizzical smile into her 
startled eyes. “ By the way,” he observed, 
“you’d better not ask Frank in that tone of 
voice if they work nights. That night-shift is a 
special pet of his. He says it’s one great secret 
of the mills’ prosperity — having two shifts. Not 
that his are the only mills that run nights, of 
course — there are plenty more.” 

Margaret’s lips parted, but before she could 
speak there came a hoarse shout and a quick cry 
of terror. The next instant the car under Bran- 
don’s skilful hands swerved sharply and just 
avoided a collision with a boy on a bicycle. 

“ Narrow shave, that,” muttered Brandon. 
“ He wasn’t even looking where he was going.” 

Margaret shuddered. She turned her gaze to 
the right and to the left. Everywhere were wan 
faces and sunken eyes. With a little cry she 
clutched Brandon’s arm. 


125 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ Can’t we go faster — faster,” she moaned. “ I 
want to get away — away ! ” 

For answer came the sharp “honk-honk” of 
the horn, and the car bounded forward. With a 
shout the crowd fell back, and with another “ honk- 
honk ” Brandon took the first turn to the right. 

“ I think we’re out of the worst of it,” he cried 
in Margaret’s ear. “If we keep to the right, we’ll 
go through only the edge of the town.” Even as 
he spoke, the way cleared more and more before 
them, and the houses grew farther apart. 

The town was almost behind them, and their 
speed had considerably lessened, when Margaret 
gave a scream of horror. Almost instantly Bran- 
don brought the car to a stop and leaped to the 
ground. Close by one of the big-rimmed wheels 
lay a huddled little heap of soiled and ragged 
pink calico ; but before Brandon could reach it, 
the heap stirred, and lifted itself. From beneath 
a tangled thatch of brown curls looked out two 
big brown eyes. 

“ I reckon mebbe I felled down,” said a cheery 
voice that yet sounded a little dazed. “ I reckon 
I did.” 

“ Good heavens, baby, I reckon you did ! ” 
126 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


breathed the man in glad relief. “ And you may 
thank your lucky stars ’twas no worse.” 

“T’ank lucky stars. What are lucky stars?” 
demanded the small girl, interestedly. 

“ Eh ? Oh, lucky stars — why, they’re — what are 
lucky stars, Miss Kendall ? ” 

Margaret did not answer. She did not seem to 
hear. With eyes that carried a fascinated terror 
in their blue depths, she was looking at the dirty 
little feet and the ragged dress of the child before 
her. 

“ T’ank lucky stars,” murmured the little girl 
again, putting out a cautious finger and just touch- 
ing the fat rubber tire of the wheel that had almost 
crushed out her life. 

Brandon shuddered involuntarily and drew the 
child away. 

“What’s your name, little girl?” he asked 
gently. 

“ Maggie.” 

“ How old are you ? ” 

“ I’m ’most five goin’ on six an’ I’ll be twelve 
ter-morrer.” 

Brandon smiled. 

“ And where do you live ? ” he continued. 

127 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


A thin little claw of a finger pointed to an un- 
painted, shabby-looking cottage across the street. 
At that moment a shrill voice called : “ Maggie, 
Maggie, what ye doin’ ? Come here, child.” And 
a tall, gaunt woman appeared in the doorway. 

Maggie turned slowly ; but scarcely had the lit- 
tle bare feet taken one step when the girl in the 
automobile stirred as if waking from sleep. 

“ Here — quick — little girl, take this,” she cried, 
tearing open the little jeweled purse at her belt, 
and thrusting all its contents into the small, grimy 
hands. 

Maggie stared in wonder. Then her whole face 
lighted up. 

“ Lucky stars ! ” she cried gleefully, her eyes on 
the shining coins. “ T’ank lucky stars ! ” And 
she turned and ran with all her small might toward 
the house. 

“ Quick — come — let us go,” begged Margaret, 
“ before the mother sees — the money ! ” And 
Brandon, smiling indulgently at the generosity 
that was so fearful of receiving thanks, lost no time 
in putting a long stretch of roadway between 
themselves and the tall, gaunt woman behind 
them. 


128 


CHAPTER XVII 


u ^"^TARS — t’ank lucky stars/’ Maggie was 
still shouting gleefully when she reached 
her mother’s side. 

Mrs. Durgin bent keen eyes on her young 
daughter’s face. 

“ Maggie, what was they sayin’ to ye ? ” she be- 
gan, pulling the little girl into the house. Sud- 
denly her jaw dropped. She stooped and clutched 
the child’s hands. “ Why, Maggie, it’s money — 
stacks of it ! ” she exclaimed, prying open the 
small fingers. 

“ Stars — lucky stars ! ” cooed Maggie. Maggie 
liked new words and phrases, and she always said 
them over and over until they were new no longer. 

Mrs. Durgin shook her daughter gently, yet de- 
terminedly. Her small black eyes looked almost 
large, so wide were they with amazement. 

“ Maggie, Maggie, tell me — what did they say 
to ye?” she demanded again. “Why did they 
give ye all this money ? ” 


129 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


Maggie was silent. Her brow was drawn into 
a thoughtful frown. 

“ But, Maggie, think — there must ’a’ been some- 
thin’. What did ye do ? ” 

“ There wa’n’t,” insisted the child. “ I jest felled 
down an’ got up, an’ they said it.” 

“ Said what ? ” 

“ ‘ T’ank lucky stars.’ ” 

A sudden thought sent a quick flash of fear to 
Mrs. Durgin’s eyes. 

“ Maggie, they didn’t hurt ye,” she cried, drop- 
ping on her knees and running swift, anxious 
fingers over the thin little arms and legs and body. 
“ They didn’t hurt ye ! ” 

Maggie shook her head. At that moment a 
shadow darkened the doorway, and the kneeling 
woman glanced up hastily. 

“ Oh, it’s you, Mis’ Magoon,” she said to the 
small, tired-looking woman in the doorway. 

“Yes, it’s me,” sighed the woman, dragging 
herself across the room to a chair. “ What time 
did Nellie leave here?” 

“ Why, I dunno — mebbe four o’clock. Why ? ” 

The woman’s face contracted with a sharp spasm 
of pain. 

130 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“She wa’n’t within half a mile of the mill when 
I met her, yet she was pantin’ an’ all out o’ breath 
then. She’ll be late, ’course, an’ you know what 
that means.” 

“Yes, I know,” sighed Mrs. Durgin, sympathet- 
ically. “ She — she hadn’t orter gone.” 

Across the room Mrs. Magoon’s head came up 
with a jerk. 

“ Don’t ye s’pose I know that ? The child’s 
sick, an’ I know it. But what diff’rence does that 
make? She works, don’t she?” 

For a moment Mrs. Durgin did not speak. 
Gradually her eyes drifted back to Maggie and the 
little pile of coins on the table. 

“ Mis’ Magoon, see,” she cried eagerly, “ what the 
lady give Maggie. They was in one o’ them ‘ nauty- 
mobiles,' as Maggie calls ’em, an’ Maggie felled 
down in the road. She wa’n’t hurt a mite — not 
even scratched, but they give her all this money.” 

The woman on the other side of the room 
sniffed disdainfully. 

“ Well, what of it ? They’d oughter give it to 
her,” she asserted. 

“ But they wa’n’t ter blame, an’ they didn’t hurt 
her none— not a mite,” argued the other. 

131 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ No thanks ter them, I’ll warrant,” snapped 
Mrs. Magoon. “For my part, I wouldn’t tech 
their old money.” Then, crossly, but with unde- 
niable interest, she asked : “ How much was it ? ” 

Mrs. Durgin laughed. 

“ Never you mind,” she retorted, as she gath- 
ered up the coins from the table ; “ but thar’s 
enough so’s I’m goin’ ter get them cough-drops 
fur Nellie, anyhow. So ! ” And she turned her 
back and pretended not to hear the faint remon- 
strances from the woman over by the window. 
Later, when she had bought the medicine and 
had placed it in Mrs. Magoon’ s hands, the remon- 
strances were repeated in a higher key, and were 
accompanied again with an angry snarl against 
the world in general and automobiles in particular. 

“ But why do ye hate ’em so ? ” demanded Mrs. 
Durgin, “ — them autymobiles? They hain’t one 
of ’em teched ye, as I knows of.” 

There was no answer. 

“ I don’t believe ye knows yerself,” declared 
the questioner then ; and at the taunt the other 
raised her head. 

“ Mebbe I don’t,” she flamed, “ an’ ’tain’t them 
I hate, anyway — it’s the folks in ’em. It’s rich 


132 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


folks. I’ve allers hated ’em anywheres, but ’twa’n’t 
never so bad as now since them things came. 
They look so — so comfortable — the folks a-leanin’ 
back on their cushions ; an’ so — so free> as if there 
wa’n’t nothin’ that could bother ’em. ’Course I 
knew before that there was rich folks, an’ that 
they had fine clo’s an’ good things ter eat, an’ 
shows an’ parties, an’ spent money ; but I didn’t 
see ’em, an’ now I do. I see ’em, I tell ye, an’ it 
makes me realize how I ain’t comfortable like 
they be, nor Nellie ain’t neither 1 ” 

“ But they ain’t all bad — rich folks,” argued the 
thin, black-eyed woman, earnestly. “ Some of ’em 
is good.” 

The other shook her head. 

“ I hain’t had the pleasure o’ meetin’ that kind,” 
she rejoined grimly. 

“ Well, I have,” retorted Maggie’s mother with 
some spirit. “ Look at that lady ter-night what 
give Maggie all that money.” 

There was no answer, and after a moment Mrs. 
Durgin went on. Her voice was lower now, and 
not quite clear. 

“ Thar was another one, too, an’ she was jest 
like a angel out o’ heaven. It was years ago — 
*33 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


much as twelve or fourteen, when I lived in New 
York. She was the mother of the nicest an’ pret- 
tiest little girl I ever see — the one I named my 
Maggie for. An’ she asked us ter her home an’ 
we stayed weeks, an’ rode in her carriages, an’ ate 
ter her table, an’ lived right with her jest as she 
did. An’ when we come back ter New York she 
come with us an’ took us out of the cellar an’ 
found a beautiful place fur us, all sun an’ winders, 
an’ she paid up the rent fur us ’way ahead whole 
months. An’ thar was all the Whalens an’ me an’ 
the twins.” 

“ Well,” prompted Mrs. Magoon, as the speaker 
paused. “ What next? You ain’t in New York, 
an’ she ain’t a-doin’ it now, is she ? Where is 
she ? ” 

Mrs. Durgin turned her head away. 

“ I don’t know,” she said. 

The other sniffed. 

“ I thought as much. It don’t last — it never 
does.” 

“ But it would ’a’ lasted with her,” cut in Mrs. 
Durgin, sharply. “She wa’n’t the kind what 
gives up. She’s sick or dead, or somethin’ — I 
know she is. But thar’s others what has lasted. 
i34 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


That Mont- Lawn I was tellin’ ye of, whar I learned 
them songs we sings, an* whar I learned ’most 
ev’rythin’ good thar is in me — that's done by rich 
folks, an’ that’s lasted ! They pays three dollars 
an’ it lets some poor little boy or girl go thar an’ 
stay ten whole days jest eatin’ an’ sleepin’ an’ 
playin’. An’ if I was in New York now my 
Maggie herself’ d be a-goin’ one o’ these days — 
you’d see ! I tell ye, rich folks ain’t bad — all of 
’em, an’ they do do things ’sides loll back in them 
autymobiles 1 ” 

Mrs. Magoon stared, then she shrugged her 
shoulders. 

“ Mebbe,” she admitted grudgingly. “ Say — 
er — Mis’ Durgin, how much was that money 
Maggie got — eh ? ” 


i3S 


CHAPTER XVIII 


M argaret kendall did not sleep 

well the night after the picnic at Silver 
Lake. She was restless, and she tossed 
from side to side finding nowhere a position that 
brought ease of mind and body. She closed her 
eyes and tried to sleep, but her active brain painted 
the dark with a panorama of the day’s happen- 
ings, and whether her eyes were open or closed, 
she was forced to see it. There were the lake, the 
mountain, and the dainty luncheon spread on the 
grass ; and there were the faces of the merry 
friends who had accompanied her. There were 
the shifting scenes of the homeward ride, too, with 
the towers of Hilcrest showing dark and clear-cut 
against a blood-red sky. But everywhere, from 
the lake, the mountain, and even from Hilcrest 
itself, looked out strange wan faces with hollow 
cheeks and mournful eyes ; and everywhere flut- 
tered the ragged skirts of a child’s pink calico 
dress. 

It was two o’clock when Margaret arose, thrust 
136 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


her feet into a pair of bed-slippers and her arms 
into the sleeves of a long, loose dressing-gown. 
There was no moon, but a starlit sky could be 
seen through the open windows, and Margaret 
easily found her way across the room to the door 
that led to the balcony. 

Margaret’s room, like the dining-room below, 
looked toward the west and the far-reaching 
meadows ; but from the turn of the balcony where 
it curved to the left, one might see the town, and 
it was toward this curve that Margaret walked 
now. Once there she stopped and stood motion- 
less, her slender hands on the balcony rail. 

The night was wonderfully clear. The wide 
dome of the sky twinkled with a myriad of stars, 
and seemed to laugh at the town below with its 
puny little lights blinking up out of the dark where 
the streets crossed and recrossed. Over by the 
river where the mills pointed big black fingers at 
the sky, however, the lights did not blink. They 
blazed in tier upon tier and line upon line of 
windows, and they glowed with a never-ending 
glare that sent a shudder to the watching girl on 
the balcony. 

“ And they’re working now — now /” she almost 
i37 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


sobbed ; then she turned with a little cry and ran 
down the balcony toward her room where was 
waiting the cool soft bed with the lavender-scented 
sheets. 

In spite of the restless night she had spent, 
Margaret arose early the next morning. The 
house was very quiet when she came down- 
stairs, and only the subdued rustle of the 
parlor maid’s skirts broke the silence of the 
great hall which was also the living-room at 
Hilcrest. 

“ Good-morning, Betty.” 

“ Good-morning, Miss,” courtesied the girl. 

Miss Kendall had almost reached the outer hall 
door when she turned abruptly. 

“ Betty, you — you don’t know a little child 
named — er — ‘ Maggie ’ ; do you ? ” she asked. 

“ Ma’am ? ” Betty almost dropped the vase she 
was dusting. 

“ ‘ Maggie,’ — a little girl named ‘ Maggie.’ She’s 
one of the — the mill people’s children, I think.” 

Betty drew herself erect. 

“ No, Miss, I don’t,” she said crisply. 

“ No, of course not,” murmured Miss Kendall, 
unconsciously acknowledging the reproach in 
138 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


Betty’s voice. Then she turned and went out the 
wide hall door. 

Twice she walked from end to end of the long 
veranda, but not once did she look toward the 
mills ; and when she sat down a little later, her 
chair was so placed that it did not command a 
view of the red and brown roofs of the town. 

Miss Kendall was restless that day. She rode 
and drove and sang and played, and won at golf 
and tennis ; but behind it all was a feverish gayety 
that came sometimes perilously near to reckless- 
ness. Frank Spencer and his sister watched her 
with troubled eyes, and even Ned gave an anx- 
ious frown once or twice. Just before dinner 
Brandon came upon her alone in the music room 
where she was racing her fingers through the runs 
and trills of an impromptu at an almost impossible 
speed. 

“ If you take me motoring with you to-night, 
Miss Kendall,” he said whimsically, when the 
music had ceased with a crashing chord, “ if you 
take me to-night, I shall make sure that the brakes 
are on my side of the car ! ” 

The girl laughed, then grew suddenly grave. 

“ You would need to,” she acceded ; “ but — I 


i39 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

shall not take you or any one else motoring to- 
night.” 

In the early evening after dinner Margaret 
sought her guardian. He was at his desk in his 
own special den out of the library, and the door 
was open. 

“May I come in?” she asked. 

Spencer sprang to his feet. 

“By all means,” he cried as he placed a chair. 
“You don’t often honor me — like this.” 

“But this is where you do business, when at 
home; isn’t it?” she inquired. “And I — I have 
come to do business.” 

The man laughed. 

“So it’s business — just plain sordid business — 
to which I am indebted for this,” he bemoaned 
playfully. “Well, and what is it? Income too 
small for expenses?” He chuckled a little, and 
he could afford to. Margaret had made no mis- 
take in asking him still to have the handling of 
her property. The results had been eminently 
satisfactory both to his pride and her pocket- 
book. 

“No, no, it’s not that ; it’s the mills.” 

“The mills 1 ” 


140 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

“Yes. Is it quite — quite necessary to work — 
nights?” 

For a moment the man stared wordlessly ; then 
he fell back in his chair. 

“ Why, Margaret, what in the world ” he 

stopped from sheer inability to proceed. He had 
suddenly remembered the stories he had heard of 
the early life of this girl before him, and of her 
childhood’s horror at the difference between the 
lot of the rich and the poor. 

“ Last night we — we came through the town,” 
explained Margaret, a little feverishly ; “ and Mr. 
Brandon happened to mention that they worked 
—nights.” 

The man at the desk roused himself. 

“Yes, I see,” he said kindly. “You were sur- 
prised, of course. But don’t worry, my child, or 
let it fret you a moment. It’s nothing new. 
They are used to it. They have done it for 
years.” 

“ But at night — all night — it doesn’t seem 
right. And it must be so — hard. Must they 
do it?” 

“ Why, of course. Other mills run nights ; 
why shouldn’t ours? They expect it, Margaret. 

141 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


Besides, they are paid for it Come, come, 
dear girl, just look at it sensibly. Why, it’s the 
night work that helps to swell your dividends.” 

Margaret winced. 

“I — I think I’d prefer them smaller,” she fal- 
tered. She hesitated, then spoke again. “There’s 
another thing, too, I wanted to ask you about. 
There was a little girl, Maggie. She lives in one 
of those shabby, unpainted houses at the foot of 
the hill. I want to do something for her. Will 
you see that this reaches her mother, please ? ” 
And she held out a fat roll of closely folded bills. 
“ Now don’t — please don’t ! ” she cried, as she 
saw the man’s remonstrative gesture. “ Please 
don’t say you can’t, and that indiscriminate giv- 
ing encourages pauperism. I used to hear that 
so often at school whenever I wanted to give 
something, and I — I hated it. If you could have 
seen that poor little girl yesterday ! — you will see 
that she gets it; won’t you?” 

“ But, Margaret,” began the man helplessly, “ I 

don’t know the child — there are so many ” he 

stopped, and Margaret picked up the dropped 
thread. 

“ But you can find out,” she urged. “ You 


142 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


must find out. Her name’s Maggie. You can 
inquire — some one will know.” 

“ But, don’t you see ” the man’s face cleared 

suddenly. “ I’ll give it to Della,” he broke off in 
quick relief. “ She runs the charity part, and 
she’ll know just what to do with it. Meanwhile, 
let me thank you ” 

“ No, no,” interrupted Margaret, rising to go. 
“ It is you I have to thank for doing it for me,” 
she finished as she hurried from the room. 

u By George ! ” muttered the man, as he looked 
at the denominations of the bills in his fingers. 
“ I’m not so sure but we may have our hands full, 
after all — certainly, if she keeps on as she’s 
begun 1 ” 


i43 


CHAPTER XIX 


I T was after eight o’clock. The morning, for 
so early in September, was raw and cold. A 
tall young fellow, with alert gray eyes and a 
square chin hurried around the corner of one of 
the great mills, and almost knocked down a small 
girl who was coming toward him with head bent 
to the wind. 

“ Heigh-ho ! ” he cried, then stopped short. 
The child had fallen back and was leaning against 
the side of the building in a paroxysm of cough- 
ing. She was thin and pale, and looked as if she 
might be eleven years old. “ Well, well ! ” he 
exclaimed as soon as the child caught her breath. 
“ I reckon there’s room for both of us in the 
world, after all.” Then, kindly: “Where were 
you going?” 

“ Home, sir.” 

He threw a keen look into her face. 

“ Are you one of the mill girls ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 


144 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ Night shift ?” 

She nodded. 

“ But it’s late — it’s after eight o’clock. Why 
didn’t you go home with the rest ? ” 

The child hesitated. Her eyes swerved from 
his gaze. She looked as if she wanted to run 
away. 

“ Come, come,” he urged kindly. “ Answer 
me. I won’t hurt you. I may help you. Let 
us go around here where the wind doesn’t blow 
so.” And he led the way to the sheltered side of 
the building. “Now tell us all about it. Why 
didn’t you go home with the rest ? ” 

“ I did start to, sir, but I was so tired, an’ — an’ 
I coughed so, I stopped to rest. It was nice an’ 
cool out here, an’ I was so hot in there.” She 
jerked her thumb toward the mill. 

“ Yes, yes, I know,” he said hastily ; and his lips 
set into stern lines as he thought of the hundreds 
of other little girls that found the raw morning 
“ nice and cool ” after the hot, moist air of the 
mills. 

“ But don’t you see,” he protested earnestly, 
“ that that’s the very time you mustn’ t stop and 
rest? You take cold, and that’s what makes you 
i45 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


cough. You shouldn’t be ” he stopped ab- 

ruptly. “ What’s your name ? ” he asked. 

“ Nellie Magoon.” 

“ How old are you ? ” 

The thin little face before him grew suddenly 
drawn and old, and the eyes met his with a look 
that was half-shrewd, half-terrified, and wholly 
defiant. 

“ I’m thirteen, sir.” 

“How old were you when you began to work 
here?” 

“Twelve, sir.” The answer was prompt and 
sure. The child had evidently been well trained. 

“ Where do you live ? ” 

“ Over on the Prospect Hill road.” 

“ But that’s a long way from here.” 

“Yes, sir. I does get tired.” 

“And you’ve walked it a good many times, 
too ; haven’t you ? ” said the man, quietly. “ Let’s 
see, how long is it that you’ve worked at the 
mills?” 

“Two years, sir.” 

A single word came sharply from between the 
man’s close-shut teeth, and Nellie wondered why 
the kind young man with the pleasant eyes should 
146 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


suddenly look so very cross and stern. At that 
moment, too, she remembered something — she had 
seen this man many times about the mills. Why 
was he questioning her? Perhaps he was not 
going to let her work any more, and if he did not 
let her work, what would her mother say and 
do? 

“ Please, sir, I must go, quick,” she cried sud- 
denly, starting forward. “I’m all well now, an’ I 
ain’t tired a mite. I’ll be back ter-night. Jest re- 
member I’m thirteen, an’ I likes ter work in the 
mills — I likes ter, sir,” she shouted back at him. 

“ Humph ! ” muttered the man, as he watched 
the frail little figure disappear down the street. 
“ I thought as much ! ” Then he turned and 
strode into the mill. “ Oh, Mr. Spencer, I’d like 
to speak to you, please, sir,” he called, hurrying 
forward, as he caught sight of the younger mem- 
ber of the firm of Spencer & Spencer. 

Fifteen minutes later Ned Spencer entered his 
brother’s office, and dropped into the nearest 
chair. 

“ Well,” he began wearily, “ McGinnis is on the 
war-path again.’ 

Frank smiled. 


147 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ So ? What’s up now ? ” 

“ Oh, same old thing — children working under 
age. By his own story the girl herself swears 
she’s thirteen, but he says she isn’t.” 

Frank shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Perhaps he knows better than the girl’s par- 
ents,” he observed dryly. “ He’d better look her 
up on our registers, or he might ask to see her cer- 
tificate.” 

Ned laughed. He made an impatient gesture. 

“Good heavens, Frank,” he snapped; “as if 
’twas our fault that they lie so about the kids’ 
ages ! They’d put a babe in arms at the frames 
if they could. But McGinnis — by the way, where 
did you get that fellow ? and how long have you 
had him ? 1 can’t remember when he wasn’t here. 

He acts as if he owned the whole concern, and 
had a personal interest in every bobbin in it.” 

“That’s exactly it,” laughed Frank. “ He has 
a personal interest, and that’s why I keep him, 
and put up with some of his meddling that’s not 
quite so pleasant. He’s as honest as the day- 
light, and as faithful as the sun.” 

“ Where did you get him ? He must have been 
here ages.” 


148 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“Ages? Well, for twelve — maybe thirteen 
years, to be exact. He was a mere boy, fourteen 
or fifteen, when he came. He said he was from 
Houghtonsville, and that he had known Dr. Harry 
Spencer. He asked for work — any kind, and 
brought good references. We used him about the 
office for awhile, then gradually worked him into 
the mills. He was bright and capable, and un- 
tiring in his efforts to please, so we pushed him 
ahead rapidly. He went to night school at once, 
and has taken one or two of those correspondence 
courses until he’s acquired really a good edu- 
cation. 

“ He’s practically indispensable to me now — 
anyhow, I found out that he was when he was laid 
up for a month last winter. He stands between 
me and the hands like a strong tower, and takes 
any amount of responsibility off my shoulders. 
You’ll see for yourself when you’ve been here 
longer. The hands like him, and will do anything 
for him. That’s why I put up with some of his 
notions. They’re getting pretty frequent of late, 
however, and he’s becoming a little too meddle- 
some. I may have to call him down a peg.” 

“You’d think so, I fancy, if you had heard him 
149 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 




run on about this mill-girl half an hour ago,” 
laughed Ned. “ He said he should speak to 
you.” 

“ Very good. Then I can speak to him,” re- 
torted the other, grimly. 


150 


CHAPTER XX 


E ARLY in the second week of September the 
houseful of guests at Hilcrest went away, 
leaving the family once more alone. 

“ It seems good ; doesn’t it — just by ourselves,” 
said Margaret that first morning at breakfast. As 
she spoke three pairs of eyes flashed a message of 
exultant thankfulness to each other, and three 
heads nodded an “I told you so I ” when Marga- 
ret’s gaze was turned away. Later, Mrs. Merideth 
put the sentiment into words, as she followed her 
brothers to the door. 

“You see, I was right,” she declared. “Mar- 
garet only needed livening up. She’s all right 
now, and will be contented here with us.” 

“Sure!” agreed Ned, as he stepped out on to 
the veranda. Frank paused a moment. 

“ Has she ever been to you again, Della, with 
money, or — or anything?” he asked in a low 
voice. 

“No, never,” replied Mrs. Merideth. “She 
15 1 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


asked once if Fd found the child, Maggie, to give 
the money to, and I evaded a direct reply. I told 
her I had put the money into the hands of the 
Guild, and that they were in constant touch with 
all cases of need. I got her interested in talking 
of something else, and she did not say anything 
more about it.” 

“ Good ! It’s the best way. You know her his- 
tory, and how morbid she got when she was a 
child. It won’t do to run any chances of that hap- 
pening again ; and I fear ’twouldn’t take much to 
bring it back. She was not a little excited when 
she brought the money in to me that night. We 
must watch out sharp,” he finished as he passed 
through the door, and hurried down the steps after 
his brother. 

Back in the dining-room Margaret had wan- 
dered listlessly to the window. It had been some 
weeks since she had seen a long day before her 
with no plans to check off the time into hours and 
half-hours of expected happenings. She told her- 
self that it was a relief and that she liked it — but 
her fingers tapped idly upon the window, and her 
eyes gazed absent-mindedly at a cloud sailing 
across a deep blue sky. 


152 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


After a time she turned to the door near by and 
stepped out upon the veranda. She could hear 
voices from around the corner, and aimlessly she 
wandered toward them. But before she had 
reached the turn the voices had ceased ; and a 
minute later she saw Frank and Ned step into the 
waiting automobile and whir rapidly down the 
driveway. 

Mrs. Merideth had disappeared into the house, 
and Margaret found herself alone. Slowly she 
walked toward the railing and looked at the town 
far below. The roofs showed red and brown and 
gray in the sunlight, and were packed close to- 
gether save at the outer edges, where they thinned 
into a straggling fringe of small cottages and 
dilapidated shanties. 

Margaret shivered with repulsion. How dread- 
ful it must be to live like that — no air, no sun, no 
view of the sky and of the cool green valley ! 
And there were so many of them — those poor 
creatures down there, with their wasted forms and 
sunken eyes ! She shuddered again as she thought 
of how they had thronged the road on the day of 
the picnic at Silver Lake — and then she turned 
and walked with resolute steps to the farther side 
i53 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


of the veranda where only the valley and the hills 
met her eyes. 

It had been like this with Margaret every day 
since that memorable ride home with Mr. Bran- 
don. Always her steps, her eyes, and her thoughts 
had turned toward the town; and always, with 
uncompromising determination, they had been 
turned about again by sheer force of will until 
they looked toward the valley with its impersonal 
green and silver. Until now there had been gay 
companions and absorbing pastimes to make this 
turning easy and effectual ; now there was only 
the long unbroken day of idleness in prospect, and 
the turning was neither so easy nor so effectual. 
The huddled roofs and dilapidated shanties of the 
town looked up at her even from the green of 
the valley ; and the wasted forms and hollow eyes 
of the mill workers blurred the sheen of the river. 

“ I’ll go down there,” she cried aloud with 
sudden impulsiveness. “ I’ll go back through the 
way we came up; then perhaps I’ll be cured.” 
And she hurried away to order the runabout to be 
brought to the door for her use. 

To Margaret it was all very clear. She needed 
but a sane, daylight ride through those streets 
i54 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


down there to drive away forever the morbid 
fancies that had haunted her so long. She told 
herself that it was the hour, the atmosphere, the 
half-light, that had painted the picture of horror 
for her. Under the clear light of the sun those 
swarming multitudes would be merely men, 
women, and children, not haunting ghosts of 
misery. There was the child, Maggie, too. Per- 
haps she might be found, and it would be delight- 
ful, indeed, to see for herself the comforting re- 
sults of the spending of that roll of money she had 
put into her guardian’s hands some time before. 

Of all this Margaret thought, and it was there- 
fore with not unpleasant anticipations that she 
stepped into the runabout a little later, and waved 
a good-bye to Mrs. Merideth, with a cheery : “I’m 
off for a little spin, Aunt Della. I’ll be back 
before luncheon.*’ 

Margaret was very sure that she knew the way, 
and some distance below the house she made the 
turn that would lead to what was known as the 
town road. The air was fresh and sweet, and 
the sun flickered through the trees in dancing 
little flecks of light that set the girl’s pulses to 
throbbing in sympathy, and caused her to send 
i55 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


the car bounding forward as if it, too, had red 
blood in its veins. Far down the hill the woods 
thinned rapidly, and a house or two appeared. 
Margaret went more slowly now. Somewhere 
was the home of little Maggie, and she did not 
want to miss it. 

Houses and more houses appeared, and the 
trees were left behind. There was now only the 
glaring sunlight showing up in all their barren- 
ness the shabby little cottages with their door- 
yards strewn with tin cans and bits of paper, and 
swarming with half-clothed, crying babies. 

From somewhere came running a saucy-faced, 
barefooted urchin, then another and another, until 
the road seemed lined with them. 

“ Hi, thar, look at de buz-wagon wid de gal in 
it I” shrieked a gleeful voice, and instantly the 
cry was taken up and echoed from across the 
street with shrill catcalls and derisive laughter. 

Margaret was frightened. She tooted her horn 
furiously, and tried to forge ahead ; but the chil- 
dren, reading aright the terror in her eyes, swarmed 
about her until she was forced to bring the car 
almost to a stop lest she run over the small squirm- 
ing bodies. 

156 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


With shrieks of delight the children instantly 
saw their advantage, and lost no time in making 
the most of it. They leaped upon the low step 
and clung to the sides and front of the car like 
leeches. Two larger boys climbed to the back 
and hung there with swinging feet, their jeering 
lips close to Miss Kendall’s shrinking ears. A 
third boy, still more venturesome, had almost 
reached the vacant seat at Miss Kendall’s side, 
when above the din of hoots and laughter, sounded 
an angry voice and a sharp command. 


i57 


CHAPTER XXI 


I T had been young McGinnis’s intention to 
look up the home and the parents of the 
little mill-girl, Nellie Magoon, at once, and 
see if something could not be done to keep — for a 
time, at least — that frail bit of humanity out of the 
mills. Some days had elapsed, however, since he 
had talked with the child, and not until now had 
he found the time to carry out his plan. He was 
hurrying with frowning brow along the lower end 
of Prospect Hill road when suddenly his ears were 
assailed by the unmistakable evidence that some- 
where a mob of small boys had found an object 
upon which to vent their wildest mischief. The 
next moment a turn of the road revealed the 
almost motionless runabout with its living freight 
of shrieking urchins, and its one white-faced, ter- 
rified girl. 

With a low-breathed “ Margaret ! ” McGinnis 
sprang forward 

It was all done so quickly that even the girl 
herself could not have told how it happened. Al- 
15S 



“a mob of small boys had found an object upon which to 

VENT THEIR WILDEST MISCHIEF.” 


•w 


































THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


most unconsciously she slipped over into the 
vacant seat and gave her place to the fearless, 
square-jawed man who seemingly had risen from 
the ground. An apparently impossible number 
of long arms shot out to the right and to the left, 
and the squirming urchins dropped to the ground, 
sprawling on all fours, and howling with surprise 
and chagrin. Then came a warning cry and a, 
sharp “ honk-honk-honk ” from the horn. The 
next moment the car bounded forward on a road- 
way that opened clear and straight before it. 

Not until he had left the town quite behind him 
did McGinnis bring the car to a halt in the shade 
of a great tree by the roadside. Then he turned 
an anxious face to the girl at his side. 

“ You’re not hurt, I hope, Miss Kendall,” he 
began. “ I didn’t like to stop before to ask. I 
hope you didn’t mind being thrust so unceremoni- 
ously out of your place and run away with,” he 
finished, a faint twinkle coming into his gray eyes. 

Margaret flushed. Before she spoke she put 
both hands to her head and straightened her hat. 

“ No, I — I’m not hurt,” she said faintly ; “ but I 
was frightened. You — you were very good to 
run away with me,” she added, the red deepen- 
i59 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


in g in her cheeks. “ I’m sure I don’t know what 
I should have done if you hadn’t.” 

The man’s face darkened. 

“ The little rascals ! ” he cried. “ They deserve 
a sound thrashing — every one of them.” 

“ But I’d done nothing — I’d not spoken to 
them,” she protested. “ I don’t see why they 
should have molested me.” 

“ Pure mischief, to begin with, probably,” re- 
turned the man ; “ then they saw that you were 
frightened, and that set them wild with delight. 
All is — I’m glad I was there,” he concluded, with 
grim finality. 

Margaret turned quickly. 

“ And so am I,” she said, “ and yet I don’t even 
know whom to thank, though you evidently know 
me. You seemed to come from the ground, and 
you handled the car as if it were your own.” 

With a sudden exclamation the man stepped to 
the ground ; then he turned and faced her, hat in 
hand. 

“And I’m acting now as if it were my own, 
too,” he said, almost bitterly. “ I beg your par- 
don, Miss Kendall. I have run it many times for 
Mr. Spencer ; that explains my familiarity with it.” 

160 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ And you are ” she paused expectantly. 

The man hesitated. It was almost on his 
tongue’s end to say, “ One of the mill-hands ” ; 
then something in the bright face, the pleasant 
smile, the half-outstretched hand, sent a strange 
light to his eyes. 

“ I am — Miss Kendall, I have half a mind to tell 
you who I am.” 

She threw a quick look into his face and drew 
back a little ; but she said graciously : 

“ Of course you will tell me who you are.” 

There was a moment’s silence, then slowly he 
asked : 

“ Do you remember — Bobby McGinnis ? ” 

“Bobby? Bobby McGinnis?” The blue eyes 
half closed and seemed to be looking far into the 
past. Suddenly they opened wide and flashed a 
glad recognition into his face. “ And are you 
Bobby McGinnis ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Why, of course I^member Bobby McGinnis,” 
she cried, with outstretched hand. “ It was you 
that found me when I was a wee bit of a girl and 
lost in New York, though that I don’t remember. 
But we used to play together there in Houghtons- 
161 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


ville, and it was you that got me the contract ” 

She stopped abruptly and turned her face away. 
The man saw her lips and chin tremble. “ I can’t 
speak of it — even now,” she said brokenly, after a 
moment. Then, gently : “ Tell me of yourself. 

How came you here ? ” 

“ I came here at once from Houghtonsville.” 
McGinnis’s voice, too, was not quite steady. She 
nodded, and he went on without explaining the 
“ at once ” — he had thought she would under- 
stand. “ I went to work in the mills, and — I have 
been here ever since. That is all,” he said simply. 

“ But how happened it that you came — here?” 

A dull red flushed the man’s cheeks. His eyes 
swerved from her level gaze, then came back sud- 
denly with the old boyish twinkle in their depths. 

“ I came,” he began slowly, “ well, to look after 
your affairs.” 

“ My affairs ! ” 

“Yes. I was fifteen. I deemed somehow that 
I was the one remaining friend who had your best 
interests at heart. I couldn't look after you, natu- 
rally — in a girls’ school — so I did the next best 
thing. I looked after your inheritance.” 

“ Dear old Bobby ! ” murmured the girl. And 
162 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


the man who heard knew, in spite of a conscious 
throb of joy, that it was the fifteen-year-old lad 
that Margaret Kendall saw before her, not the 
man-grown standing at her side. 

“ I suppose I thought,” he resumed after a mo- 
ment, “ that if I were not here some one might 
pick up the mills and run off with them.” 

“And now?” She was back in the present, 
and her eyes were merry. 

“ And now ? Well, now I come nearer realizing 
my limitations, perhaps,” he laughed. “ At any 
rate, I learned long ago that your interests were 
in excellent hands, and that my presence could do 
very little good, even if they had not been in such 
fine shape. . . . But I am keeping you,” he 

broke off suddenly, backing away from the car. 
“Are you — can you — you do not need me any 
longer to run the machine? You’ll not go back 
through the town, of course.” 

“No, I shall not go back through the town,” 
shuddered the girl. “ And I can drive very well 
by myself now, I am sure,” she declared. And he 
did not know that for a moment she had been 
tempted to give quite the opposite answer. “ I 
shall go on to the next turn, and then around home 
163 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

by the other way. . . . But I shall see you 

soon again ? — you will come to see me ? ” she fin- 
ished, as she held out her hand. 

McGinnis shook his head. 

“ Miss Kendall, in the kindness of her heart, 
forgets,” he reminded her quietly. “ Bobby Mc- 
Ginnis is not on Hilcrest’s calling list.” 

“ But Bobby McGinnis is my friend,” retorted 
Miss Kendall with a bright smile, “ and Hilcrest 
always welcomes my friends.” 

Still standing under the shadow of the great 
tree, McGinnis watched the runabout until a turn 
of the road hid it from sight. 

“ I thought ’twould be easier after I’d met her 
once, face to face, and spoken to her,” he was 
murmuring softly ; “ but it's going to be harder, 
I’m afraid — harder than when I just caught a 
glimpse of her once in a while and knew that she 
was here.” 


164 


CHAPTER XXII 


M ARGARET’S morning ride through the 
town did not have quite the effect she 
had hoped it would. By daylight the 
place looked even worse than by the softening 
twilight. But she was haunted now, not so much 
by the wan faces of the workers as by the jeering 
countenances of a mob of mischievous boys. To 
be sure, the unexpected meeting with Bobby Mc- 
Ginnis had in a measure blurred the vision, but it 
was still there ; and at night she awoke sometimes 
with those horrid shouts in her ears. Of one thing 
it had cured her, however : she no longer wished 
to see for herself the shabby cottages and the peo- 
ple in them. She gave money, promptly and 
liberally — so liberally, in fact, that Mrs. Merideth 
quite caught her breath at the size of the bills that 
the young woman stuffed into her hands. 

“ But, my dear, so much ! ” she had remonstrated. 
“No, no — take it, do ! ” Margaret had pleaded. 
“ Give it to that society to do as they like with it. 
And when it’s gone there’ll be more.” 

165 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


/ 


Mrs. Merideth had taken the money then with- 
out more ado. The one thing she wished particu- 
larly to avoid in the matter was controversy — for 
controversy meant interest. 

There had been one other result of that morn- 
ing’s experience — a result which to Frank Spencer 
was perhaps quite as startling as had been the roll 
of bills to his sister. 

“ I met your Mr. Robert McGinnis when I was 
out this morning,” Margaret had said that night 
at dinner. “ What sort of man is he ? ” 

Before Frank could reply Ned had answered for 
him. 

“ He’s a little tin god on wheels, Margaret, that 
can do no wrong. That’s what he is.” 

“ Ned ! ” remonstrated Mrs. Merideth in a horror 
that was not all playful. Then to Margaret : “ He 
is a very faithful fellow and an efficient workman, 
my dear, who is a great help to Frank. But how 
and where did you see him ? ” 

Margaret laughed. 

“ I’ll tell you,” she promised in response to Mrs. 
Merideth’s question ; “ but I haven’t heard yet 
from the head of the house.” 

“ I can add little to what has been said,” de- 
166 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

dared Frank with a smile. “ He is all that they 
pictured him. He is the king-pin, the keystone — 
anything you please. But, why ? ” 

“ Nothing, only I know him. He is an old 
friend.” 

“You know him ! — a friend !” The three voices 
were one in shocked amazement. 

“ Yes, long ago in Houghtonsville,” smiled Mar- 
garet. “He knew me still longer ago than that, 
but that part I remember only as it has been told 
to me. He was the little boy who found me cry- 
ing in the streets of New York, and took me home 
to his mother.” 

There was a stunned silence around the table. 
It was the first time the Spencers had ever heard 
Margaret speak voluntarily of her childhood, and 
it frightened them. It seemed to bring into the 
perfumed air of the dining-room the visible 
presence of poverty and misery. They feared, 
too, for Margaret : this was the one thing that 
must be guarded against — the possible return to 
the morbid fancies of her youth. And this man — 

“ Why, how strange ! ” murmured Mrs. Meri- 
deth, breaking the pause. “ But then, after all, 
he’ll not annoy you, I fancy.” 

167 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ Of course not,” cut in Ned. “ McGinnis is 
no fool, and he knows his place.” 

“ Most assuredly,” declared Frank, with a sud- 
den tightening of his lips. “ You’ll not see him 
again, I fancy. If he annoys you, let me know.” 

“ Oh, but ’twon’t be an annoyance,” smiled 
Margaret. “ I asked him to come and see me.” 

“ You — asked — him — to come ! ” To the 
Spencers it was as if she had taken one of the 
big black wheels from the mills and suggested 
its desirability for the drawing-room. “You 
asked him to come ! ” 

Was there a slight lifting of the delicately 
moulded chin opposite ? — the least possible dila- 
tion of the sensitive nostrils? Perhaps. Yet 
Margaret’s voice when she answered, was clear 
and sweet. 

“Yes. I told him that Hilcrest would always 
welcome my friends, I was sure. And — wasn’t 
I right?” 

“ Of course — certainly,” three almost inaudible 
voices had murmured. And that had been the 
end of it, except that the two brothers and the 
sister had talked it over in low distressed voices 
after Margaret had gone up-stairs to bed. 

1 68 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


Two weeks had passed now, however, since 
that memorable night, and the veranda of Hil- 
crest had not yet echoed to the sound of young 
McGinnis’s feet. The Spencers breathed a little 
more freely in consequence. It might be pos- 
sible, after all, thought they, that McGinnis had 
some sense ! — and the emphasis was eloquent. 


169 


CHAPTER XXIII 


ISS KENDALL was sitting alone before 



the great fireplace in the hall at Hilcrest 
when Betty, the parlor maid, found her. 


Betty’s nose, always inclined to an upward tilt, 
was even more disdainful than usual this morn- 
ing. In fact, Betty’s whole self from cap to dainty 
shoes radiated strong disapproval. 

“ There’s a young person — a very impertinent 
young person at the side door, Miss, who insists 
upon seeing you,” she said severely. 

“ Me ? Seeing me ? Who is it, Betty ? ” 

“ I don’t know, Miss. She looks like a mill 
girl.” Even Betty’s voice seemed to shrink from 
the “ mill ” as if it feared contamination. 

“ A mill girl ? Then it must be Mrs. Merideth 
or Mr. Spencer that she wants to see.” 

“She said you, Miss. She said she wanted 
to see ” Betty stopped, looking a little fright- 

ened. 


“Yes, go on, Betty.” 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“That — that she wanted to see Miss Maggie 
Kendall,” blurted out the horrified Betty. “ ‘ Mag 
of the Alley.’ ” 

Miss Kendall sprang to her feet. 

“ Bring the girl here, Betty,” she directed 
quickly. “ I will see her at once.” 

Just what and whom she expected to see, 
Margaret could not have told. For the first sur- 
prised instant it seemed that some dimly re- 
membered Patty or Clarabella or Arabella from 
the past must be waiting out there at the door ; 
the next moment she knew that this was im- 
possible, for time, even in the Alley, could not 
have stood still, and Patty and the twins must be 
women-grown now. 

Out at the side door the “impertinent young 
person ” received Betty’s order to “ come in ” with 
an airy toss of her head, and a jeering “ There, 
what’d I tell ye ? ” but once in the subdued luxury 
of soft rugs and silken hangings, and face to face 
with a beauteous vision in a trailing pale blue 
gown, she became at once only a very much 
frightened little girl about eleven years old. 

At a sign from Miss Kendall Betty withdrew 
and left the two alone. 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ What is your name, little girl ? ” asked Miss 
Kendall gently. 

The child swallowed and choked a little. 

“ Nellie Magoon, ma’am, if you please, thank 
you,” she stammered. 

“ Where do you live ? ” 

“ Down on the Prospect Hill road.” 

“ Who sent you to me ? ” 

“ Mis’ Durgin.” 

Miss Kendall frowned and paused a moment. As 
yet there had not been a name that she recognized, 
nor could she find in the child’s face the slightest 
resemblance to any one she had ever seen before. 

“ But I don’t understand,” she protested. 
“ Who is this Mrs. Durgin ? What did she tell 
you to say to me?” 

“ She said, ‘ Tell her Patty is in trouble an’ 
wants ter see Mag of the Alley,’ ” murmured the 
child, as if reciting a lesson. 

“ ‘ Patty ’ ? ‘ Patty ’ ? Not Patty Murphy ! ” 
cried Miss Kendall, starting forward and grasp- 
ing the child’s arm. 

Nellie drew back, half frightened. 

• "Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am. I don’t know, 
ma’am,” she stammered. 


172 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ But how came she to send for me ? Who told 
her I was here?” 

“ The boss.” 

“ The — boss ! ” 

“ Yes. Mr. McGinnis, ye know. He said as 
how you was here.” 

“ Bobby ! ” cried Miss Kendall, releasing the 
child’s arm and falling back a step. “ Why, of 
course, it’s Patty— it must be Patty 1 Til go to 
her at once. Wait here while I dress.” And she 
hurried across the hall and up the broad stair- 
way. 

Back by the door Nellie watched the disappear- 
ing blue draperies with wistful eyes that bore also 
a trace of resentment. “ Go and dress ” indeed ! 
As if there could be anything more altogether to 
be desired than that beautiful trailing blue gown ! 
She was even more dissatisfied ten minutes later 
when Miss Kendall came back in the trim brown 
suit and walking-hat — it would have been so much 
more delightful to usher into Mrs. Durgin’s pres- 
ence that sumptuous robe of blue ! She forgot 
her disappointment, however, a little later, in 
the excitement of rolling along at Miss Kendall’s 
side in the Hilcrest carriage, with the imposing- 
i73 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


looking coachman in the Spencer livery towering 
above her on the seat in front. 

It had been Miss Kendall’s first thought to 
order the runabout, but a sudden remembrance 
of her morning’s experience a few weeks before 
caused her to think that the stalwart John and the 
horses might be better ; so John, somewhat to his 
consternation, it must be confessed, had been 
summoned to take his orders from Nellie as to roads 
and turns. He now sat, stern and dignified, in the 
driver’s seat, showing by the very lines of his stiffly- 
held body his entire disapproval of the whole affair. 

Nor were John and Betty the only ones at Hil- 
crest who were conscious of keen disapproval that 
morning. The mistress herself, from an upper 
window, watched with dismayed eyes the de- 
parture of the carriage. 

“I’ve found Patty, the little girl who was so 
good to me in New York,” Margaret had explained 
breathlessly, flying into the room three minutes 
before. “She’s in trouble and has sent for me. 
I’m taking John and the horses, so I’ll be all right. 
Don’t worry ! ” And with that she was gone, 
leaving behind her a woman too dazed to reply 
by so much as a word. 


i74 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


Hilcrest was not out of sight before Margaret 
turned to the child at her side. 

“ You said she was in trouble — my friend, Patty. 
What is it?” she questioned. 

“ It’s little Maggie. She’s sick.” 

“ Maggie ? Not the Maggie, the little brown- 
eyed girl in the pink calico dress, who fell down 
almost in front of our auto 1 ” 

Nellie turned abruptly, her thin little face alight. 
“ Gee ! Was that you ? Did you give her the 
money ? Say, now, ain’t that queer 1 ” 

“ Then it is Maggie, and she’s Patty’s little 
girl,” cried Margaret. “ And to think I was so 
near and didn’t know ! But tell me about her. 
What is the matter ? ” 


i7S 


CHAPTER XXIV 


D OWN in the shabby little cottage on the 
Hill road Mrs. Durgin walked the floor, 
vibrating between the window and the 
low bed in the corner. By the stove sat Mrs. 
Magoon, mending a pair of trousers — and talking. 
To those who knew Mrs. Magoon, it was never 
necessary to add that last — if Mrs. Magoon was 
there, so also was the talking. 

“ It don’t do no good ter watch the pot — 
’twon’t b’ile no quicker,” she was saying now, 
her eyes on the woman who was anxiously scan- 
ning the road from the window. 

“Yes, I know,” murmured Mrs. Durgin, reso- 
lutely turning her back on the window and going 
over to the bed. Sixty seconds later, however, 
she was again in her old position at the window, 
craning her neck to look far up the road. 

“ How’s Maggie doin’ now ? ” asked Mrs. Ma- 
goon. 

“ She’s asleep.” 

“ Well, she better be awake,” retorted Mrs. 
176 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


Magoon, “ so’s ter keep her ma out o’ mischief. 
Come, come, Mis’ Durgin, why don’t ye settle 
down an’ do somethin’? Jest call it she ain’t 
a-comin’, then ’twill be all the more happy fyin’ 
surprise if she does.” 

“ But she is a-comin’.” 

“ How do ye know she is?” 

“’Cause she’s Maggie Kendall, an’ she was 
Mag of the Alley : an’ Mag of the Alley don’t go 
back on her friends.” 

“ But she’s rich now.” 

“ I know she is, an’ you don’t think rich folks is 
any good ; but I do, an’ thar’s the diff’rence. Mr. 
McGinnis has seen her, an’ he says she’s jest as 
nice as ever.” 

“ Mebbe she is nice ter folks o’ her sort, but 
even Mr. McGinnis don’t know that you’ve sent 
fur her ter come ’way off down here.” 

“ I know it, but — Mis’ Magoon, she’s come ! ” 
broke off Mrs. Durgin ; and something in her face 
and voice made the woman by the stove drop her 
work and run to the window. 

Drawn up before the broken-hinged, half- 
open gate, were the Spencers’ famous span of 
thoroughbreds, prancing, arching their handsome 

i n 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


necks, and apparently giving the mighty person- 
age on the driver’s seat all that he wanted to do 
to hold them. Behind, in the luxurious carriage, 
sat a ragged little girl, and what to Patty Durgin 
was a wonderful vision in golden brown. 

Mrs. Durgin was thoroughly frightened. She, 
she had summoned this glorious creature to come 
to her, because, indeed, her little girl, Maggie, 
was sick ! And where, in the vision before her, 
was there a trace of Mag of the Alley ? Just what 
she had expected to see, Mrs. Durgin did not 
know — but certainly not this ; and she fairly 
shook in her shoes as the visible evidence of her 
audacity, in the shape of the vision in golden 
brown, walked up the little path from the gate. 

It was Mrs. Magoon who had to go to the 
door. , 

The young woman on the door-step started 
eagerly forward, but fell back with a murmured, 
“ Oh, but you can’t be — Patty ! ” 

Over by the window the tall, black-eyed woman 
stirred then, as if by sheer force of will. 

“No, no, it’s me that’s Patty,” she began 
hurriedly. “An’ I hadn’t oughter sent fur ye; 
but ” — her words were silenced by a pair of 
178 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


brown-clad arms that were flung around her 
neck. 

“ Patty — it is Patty ! ” cried an eager voice, and 
Mrs. Durgin found herself looking into the well- 
remembered blue eyes of the old-time Mag of 
the Alley. 

Later, when Mrs. Magoon had taken herself 
and her amazed ejaculations, together with her 
round-eyed daughter, home — which was, after all, 
merely the other side of the shabby little house — 
Patty and Margaret sat down to talk. In the bed 
in the corner little Maggie still slept, and they 
lowered their voices that they might not wake 
her. 

“ Now, tell me everything,” commanded Mar- 
garet. “ I want to know everything that’s hap- 
pened.” 

Patty shook her head. 

“ Thar ain’t much, an’ what thar is ain’t in- 
terestin’,” she said. “We jest lived, an’ we’re 
livin’ now. Nothin’ much happens.” 

“ But you married.” 

Patty flushed. Her eyes fell. 

“ Yes.” 

“ And your husband — he’s — living ? ” 

179 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ Yes.” 

Margaret hesitated. This was plainly an un- 
pleasant subject, yet if she were to give any help 
that was help — 

Patty saw the hesitation, and divined its cause. 

“ You — you better leave Sam out,” she said 
miserably. “He has ter be left out o’ most 
things. Sam — drinks.” 

“ Oh, but we aren’t going to leave Sam out,” 
retorted Margaret, brightly ; and at the cheery 
tone Patty raised her head. 

“ He didn’t used ter be left out, once — when I 
married him eight years ago,” she declared. 
“We worked in the mill — both of us, an’ done 
well.” 

“ Here?” 

Patty turned her eyes away. All the animation 
fled from her face and left it gray and pinched. 

“No. We hain’t been here but two years. 
We jest kind of drifted here from the last place. 
We don’t never stay long — in one place.” 

“ And the twins — where are they ? ” 

A spasm of pain tightened Patty’s lips. 

“ I don't know,” she said. 

“ You — don’t — know ! ” 

180 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ No. They lived with us at first, an’ worked 
some in the mill. Arabella couldn’t much ; you 
know she was lame. After Sam got — worse, he 
didn’t like ter have ’em ’round, an’ ’course they 
found it out. One night he — struck Arabella, an’ 
’course that settled things. Clarabella wouldn’t 
let her stay thar another minute, an’ — an’ I 
wouldn’t neither. Jest think — an’ her lame, an’ 
we always treatin’ her so gentle ! I give ’em 
what litde money I had, an’ they left ’fore 
mornin’. I couldn’t go. My little Maggie wa’n’t 
but three days old.” 

“ But you heard from them — you knew where 
they went?” 

“Yes, once or twice. They started fur New 
York, an’ got thar all right. We was down in 
Jersey then, an’ ’twa’n’t fun They found the 
Whalens an’ went back ter them. After that I 
didn’t hear. You know the twins wa’n’t much 
fur writin’, an’ — well, we left whar we was, any- 
how. I’ve wrote twice, but thar hain’t nothin’ 
come of it. . . . But I hadn’t oughter run on 

so,” she broke off suddenly. “ You was so good 
ter come. Mis’ Magoon said you — you wouldn’t 
want to.” 

181 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ Want to ? Of course I wanted to ! ” 

“ I know ; but it had been so long, an’ we 
hadn’t never heard from you since you got the 

Whalens their new — that is ” she stopped, a 

painful red dyeing her cheeks. 

“ Yes, I know,” said Margaret, gently. “ You 
thought we had forgotten you, and no wonder. 

But you know now ? Bobby told you that ” 

her voice broke, and she did not finish her sentence. 

Patty nodded, her eyes averted. She could not 
speak. 

“ Those years — afterward, were never very clear 
to me,” went on Margaret, unsteadily. “ It was 
all so terrible — so lonely. I know I begged to go 
back — to the Alley ; and I talked of you and the 
others constantly. But they kept everything 
from me. They never spoke of those years in 
New York, and they surrounded me with all sorts 
of beautiful, interesting things, and did everything 
in the world to make me happy. In time they 
succeeded — in a way. But I think I never quite 
forgot. There was always something — some- 
where — behind things ; yet after a while it seemed 
like a dream, or like a life that some one else had 
lived.” 


182 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


Margaret had almost forgotten Patty’s presence. 
Her eyes were on the broken-hinged gate out the 
window, and her voice was so low as to be almost 
inaudible. It was a cry from little Maggie that 
roused her, and together with Patty she sprang to- 
ward the bed. 

“ My — lucky — stars 1 ” murmured the child, a 
little later, in dim recollection as she gazed into 
the visitor’s face. 

“You precious baby ! And it shall be ‘ lucky 
stars ’ — you’ll see ! ” cried Margaret. 


CHAPTER XXV 


I T was, indeed, “ lucky stars/’ as little Mag- 
gie soon found out. Others found it out, 
too ; but to some of these it was not “ lucky ” 
stars. 

At the dinner table on that first night after the 
visit to Patty’s house, Margaret threw the family 
into no little consternation by abruptly asking : 

“ How do you go to work to get men and 
things to put houses into livable shape ? . . . 

I don’t suppose I did word it in a very business- 
like manner,” she added laughingly, in response 
to Frank Spencer’s amazed ejaculation. 

“ But what — perhaps I don’t quite understand,” 
he murmured. 

“No, of course you don’t,” replied Margaret ; 
“ and no wonder. I’ll explain. You see I’ve 
found another of my friends. It’s the little girl, 
Patty, with whom I lived three years in New York. 
She’s down in one of the mill cottages, and it 
leaks and is in bad shape generally. I want to fix 
it up.” 


184 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


There was a dazed silence ; then Frank Spencer 
recovered his wits and his voice. 

“ By all means,” he rejoined hastily. “ It shall 
be attended to at once. Just give me your direc- 
tions and I will send the men around there right 
away.” 

“ Thank you ; then Pll meet them there and tell 
them just what I want done.” 

Frank Spencer moistened his lips, which had 
grown unaccountably dry. 

“ But, my dear Margaret,” he remonstrated, 
“ surely it isn’t necessary that you yourself should 
be subjected to such annoyance. I can attend to 
all that is necessary.” 

“ Oh, but I don’t mind a bit,” returned Margaret, 
brightly. “ I want to do it. It’s for Patty, you 
know.” And Frank Spencer could only fall back 
in his chair with an uneasy glance at his sister. 

Before the week was out there seemed to be a 
good many things that were “ for Patty, you 
know.” There was the skilled physician sum- 
moned to prescribe for Maggie ; and there was 
the strong, capable woman hired to care for her, 
and to give the worn-out mother a much needed 
rest. There were the large baskets of fruit and 
185 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


vegetables, and the boxes of beautiful flowers. In 
fact there seemed to be almost nothing throughout 
the whole week that was not “ for Patty, you know.” 

Even Margaret’s time — that, too, was given to 
Patty. The golf links and the tennis court were 
deserted. Neither Ned nor the beautiful October 
weather could tempt Margaret to a single game. 
The music room, too, was silent, and the piano 
was closed. 

Down in the little house on the Prospect Hill 
road, however, a radiant young woman was 
superintending the work that was fast putting the 
cottage into a shape that was very much “ livable.” 
Meanwhile this same radiant young woman was 
getting acquainted with her namesake. 

“ Lucky Stars,” as the child insisted upon call- 
ing her, and Maggie were firm friends. Good 
food and proper care were fast bringing the little 
girl back to health ; and there was nothing she so 
loved to do as to “ play ” with the beautiful young 
lady who had never yet failed to bring toy or game 
or flower for her delight. 

“ And how old are you now ? ” Margaret would 
laughingly ask each day, just to hear the prompt 
response : 


186 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ I’m ’most five goin’ on six an’ I’ll be twelve 
ter-morrow.” 

Margaret always chuckled over this retort and 
never tired of hearing it, until one day Patty 
sharply interfered. 

“ Don’t — please don’t ! I can’t bear it when 
you don’t half know what it means.” 

“ When I don’t know what it means ! Why, 
Patty ! ” exclaimed Margaret. 

“Yes. It’s Sam. He learned it to her.” 

“ Well ? ” Margaret’s eyes were still puzzled. 

“ He likes it. He wants her ter be twelve, ye 
know,” explained Patty with an effort. Then, as 
she saw her meaning was still not clear, she added 
miserably : 

“ She can work then — in the mills.” 

“In the mills — at twelve years old ! ” 

“ That’s the age, ye know, when they can git 
their papers — that is, if it’s summer — vacation 
time : an’ they looks out that ’tis summer, most 
generally, when they does gits ’em. After that it 
don’t count ; they jest works, lots of ’em, sum- 
mer or winter, school or no school.” 

“ The age ! Do you mean that they let mere 
children, twelve years old, work in those mills? ” 
187 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

For a moment Patty stared silently. Then she 
shook her head. 

“ I reckon mebbe ye don’t know much about it, 
she said wearily. “ They don’t wait till they’s 
twelve. They jest says they’s twelve. Nellie 
Magoon’s eleven, an’ Bess is ten, an’ Susie Mc- 
Dermot ain’t but nine — but they’s all twelve on 
the mill books. Sam’s jest a-learnin’ Maggie ter 
say she’s twelve even now, an’ the minute she’s 
big enough ter work she will be twelve. It makes 
me jest sick ; an’ that’s why I can’t bear ter hear 
her say it.” 

Margaret shuddered. Her face lost a little of 
its radiant glow, and her hand trembled as she 
raised it to her head. 

“You are right — I did not know,” she said 
faintly. “ There must be something that can be 
^ done. There must be. I will see.” 

And she did see. That night she once more 
followed her guardian into the little den off the 
library. 

“ It’s business again,” she began, smiling 
faintly ; “ and it’s the mills. May I speak to you 
a moment? ” 

“ Of course you may,” cried the man, trying to 
1 88 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


make his voice so cordial that there should be 
visible in his manner no trace of his real dismay 
at her request. “ What is it ? ” 

Margaret did not answer at once. Her head 
drooped forward a little. She had seated herself 
near the desk, and her left hand and arm rested 
along the edge of its smooth flat top. The man’s 
gaze drifted from her face to the arm, the slender 
wrist and the tapering fingers so clearly outlined 
in all their fairness against the dark mahogany, 
and so plainly all unfitted for strife or struggle. 
With a sudden movement he leaned forward and 
covered the slim fingers with his own warm-clasp- 
ing hand. 

“ Margaret, dear child, don’t 1 ” he begged. “ It 
breaks my heart to see you like this. You are 
carrying the whole world on those two frail shoul- 
ders of yours.” 

“No, no, it’s not the whole world at all,” pro- 
tested the girl. “ It’s only a wee small part of it — 
and such a defenseless little part, too. It’s the 
children down at the mills.” 

Unconsciously the man straightened himself. 
His clasp on the outstretched hand loosened until 
Margaret, as if in answer to the stern determina- 
189 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


tion of his face, drew her hand away and raised 
her head until her eyes met his unfalteringly. 

“ It is useless, of course, to pretend not to un- 
derstand, ” he began stiffly. “ I suppose that that 
altogether too officious young McGinnis has been 
asking your help for some of his pet schemes.” 

“ On the contrary, Mr. McGinnis has not 
spoken to me of the mill workers,” corrected 
Margaret, quietly, but with a curious little thrill 
that resolved itself into a silent exultation that 
there was then at least one at the mills on whose 
aid she might count. “ I have not seen him, in- 
deed, since that first morning I met him,” she 
finished coldly. Though Margaret would not 
own it to herself, the fact that she had not seen 
the young man, Robert McGinnis, had surprised 
and disappointed her not a little — Margaret Ken- 
dall was not used to having her presence and her 
gracious invitations ignored. 

“ Oh, then you haven’t seen him,” murmured 
her guardian ; and there was a curious intonation 
of relief in his voice. “ Who, then, has been talk- 
ing to you ? ” 

“No one — in the way you mean. Patty in- 
advertently mentioned it to-day, and I questioned 

190 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


her. I was shocked and distressed. Those little 
children — just think of it — twelve years old, and 
working in the mills ! ” 

The man made a troubled gesture. 

“But, my dear Margaret, I did not put them 
there. Their parents did it.” 

“ But you could refuse to take them.” 

“ Why should I ? ” he shrugged. “ They would 
merely go into some other man’s mill.” 

“ But you don’t know the worst of it,” moaned 
the girl. “ They’ve lied to you. They aren’t even 
twelve, some of them. They’re babies of nine and 
ten ! ” 

She paused expectantly, but he did not speak. 
He only turned his head so that she could not see 
his eyes. 

“ You did not know it, of course,” she went 
on feverishly. “ But you do now. And surely 
now, now you can do something.” 

Still he was silent. Then he turned sharply. 

“ Margaret, I beg of you to believe me when I 
say that you do not understand the matter at all. 
Those people are poor. They need the money. 
You would deprive some of the families of two- 
thirds of their means of support if you took away 
191 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


what the children earn. Help them, pity them, 
be as charitable as you like. That is well and 
good ; but, Margaret, don’t, for heaven’s sake, 
let your heart run away with your head when it 
comes to the business part of it ! ” 

“ Business 1 — with babies nine years old ! ” 

The man sprang to his feet and walked twice 
the length of the room ; then he turned about 
and faced the scornful eyes of the girl by the 
desk. 

“ Margaret, don’t look at me as if you thought 
I was a fiend incarnate. I regret this sort of 
thing as much as you do. Indeed I do. But my 
hands are tied. I am simply a part of a great 
machine — a gigantic system, and I must run my 
mills as other men do. Surely you must see that. 
Just think it over, and give me the credit at least 
for knowing a little more of the business than you 
do, when I and my father before me, have been 
here as many years as you have days. Come, 
please don’t let us talk of this thing any more to- 
night. You are tired and overwrought, and I 
don’t think you realize yourself what you are 
asking.” 

“ Very well, I will go,” sighed Margaret, rising 
192 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


wearily to her feet. “ But I can’t forget it. 
There must be some way out of it. There 
must be some way out of it — somehow — some 
time.” 


l 93 


CHAPTER XXVI 


HERE came a day when there seemed to 



be nothing left to do for Patty. Maggie 


was well, and at play again in the tiny 
yard. The yard itself was no longer strewn with 
tin cans and bits of paper, nor did the gate hang 
half-hinged in slovenly decrepitude. The house 
rejoiced in new paper, paint, and window-glass, 
and the roof showed a spotted surface that would 
defy the heaviest shower. Within, before a cheery 
fire, Patty sewed industriously on garments which 
Miss Kendall no wise needed, but for which Miss 
Kendall would pay much money. 

Patty did not work in the mills now ; Margaret 
had refused to let her go back, saying that she 
wanted lots of sewing done, and Patty could do 
that instead. Patty’s own wardrobe, as well as 
that of the child, Maggie, was supplied for a year 
ahead ; and the pantry and the storeroom of the 
little house fairly groaned with good things to eat. 
Even Sam, true to Margaret’s promise, was not 
“ left out,” as was shown by his appearance. Sam, 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


stirred by the girl’s cheery encouragement and 
tactful confidence, held up his head sometimes 
now with a trace of his old manliness, and had 
even been known to keep sober for two whole days 
at a time. 

There did, indeed, seem nothing left to do for 
Patty, and Margaret found herself with the old 
idleness on her hands. 

At Hilcrest Mrs. Merideth and her brothers 
were doing everything in their power to make 
Margaret happy. They were frightened and dis- 
mayed at the girl’s “ infatuation for that mill 
woman,” as they termed Margaret’s interest in 
Patty ; and they had ever before them the haunt- 
ing vision of the girl’s childhood morbidness, 
which they so feared to see return. 

To the Spencers, happiness for Margaret meant 
pleasure, excitement, and — as Ned expressed it — 
“ something doing.” At the first hint, then, of 
leisure on the part of Margaret, these three vied 
with each other to fill that leisure to the brim. 

Two or three guests were invited — just enough 
to break the monotony of the familiar faces, 
though not enough to spoil the intimacy and 
render outside interests easy. It was December, 
i95 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


and too late for picnics, but it was yet early in the 
month, and driving and motoring were still pos- 
sible, and even enjoyable. The goal now was not 
a lake or a mountain, to be sure ; but might be a 
not too distant city with a matinee or a luncheon 
to give zest to the trip. 

Ned, in particular, was indefatigable in his 
efforts to please ; and Margaret could scarcely 
move that she did not find him at her elbow with 
some suggestion for her gratification ranging all 
the way from a dinner-party to a footstool. 

Margaret was not quite at ease about Ned. 
There was an exclusiveness in his devotions, and 
a tenderness in his ministrations that made her a 
little restless in his presence, particularly if she 
found herself alone with him. Ned was her good 
friend — her comrade. She was very sure that she 
did not wish him to be anything else ; and if he 
should try to be — there would be an end to the 
comradeship, at all events, if not to the friendship. 

By way of defense against these possibilities she 
adopted a playful air of whimsicality and fell to 
calling him the name by which he had introduced 
himself on that first day when she had seen him at 
the head of the hillside path — “ Uncle Ned.” She 
196 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


did not do this many times, however, for one day 
he turned upon her a white face working with 
emotion. 

“ I am not your uncle,” he burst out ; and Mar- 
garet scarcely knew whether to laugh or to cry, he 
threw so much tragedy into the simple words. 

“ No ? ” she managed to return lightly. “ Oh, 
but you said you were, you know ; and when a 
man says ” 

“ But I say otherwise now,” he cut in, leaning 
toward her until his breath stirred the hair at her 
temples. “ Margaret,” he murmured tremulously, 
“ it’s not 1 uncle,’ — but there’s something else — a 
name that ” 

“ Oh, but I couldn’t learn another,” interrupted 
Margaret, with nervous precipitation, as she rose 
hurriedly to her feet, “ so soon as this, you know ! 
Why, you’ve just cast me off as a niece, and it 
takes time for me to realize the full force of that 
blow,” she finished gayly, as she hurried away. 

In her own room she drew a deep breath of re- 
lief ; but all day, and for many days afterward, she 
was haunted by the hurt look in Ned’s eyes as she 
had turned away. It reminded her of the expres- 
sion she had seen once in the pictured eyes of a 
i97 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


dog that had been painted by a great artist. She 
remembered, too, the title of the picture : 
“ Wounded in the house of his friends,” and 
it distressed her not a little ; and yet — Ned was 
her comrade and her very good friend, and that 
was what he must be. 

Not only this, however, caused Margaret rest- 
less days and troubled nights : there were those 
children down in the mills — those little children, 
nine, ten, twelve years old. It was too cold now 
to stay long on the veranda ; but there was many 
a day, and there were some nights, when Mar- 
garet looked out of the east windows of Hilcrest 
and gazed with fascinated, yet shrinking eyes at 
the mills. 

She was growing morbid — she owned that to 
herself. She knew nothing at all of the mills, 
and she had never seen a child at work in them ; 
yet she pictured great black wheels relentlessly 
crushing out young lives, and she recoiled from 
the touch of her trailing silks — they seemed alive 
with shrunken little forms and wasted fingers. 
Day after day she turned over in her mind the 
most visionary projects for stopping those 
wheels, or for removing those children beyond 
198 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


their reach. Even though her eyes might be on 
the merry throngs of a gay city street — her 
thoughts were still back in the mill town with 
the children ; and even though her body might 
be flying from home at the rate of thirty or forty 
miles an hour in Frank’s big six-cylinder Speeder, 
her real self was back at Hilcrest with the mills 
always in sight. 

Once again she appealed to her guardian, but 
five minutes’ talk showed her the uselessness of 
anything she could say — it was true, she did not 
know anything about it. 

It was that very fact, perhaps, which first sent 
her thoughts in a new direction. If, as was true, 
she did not know anything about it, how better 
could she remedy the situation than by finding 
out something about it? And almost instantly 
came the memory of her guardian’s words : “ I 

suppose that that altogether too officious young 
McGinnis has been asking your help for some of 
his schemes.” 

Bobby knew. Bobby had schemes. Bobby 
was the one to help her. By all means, she 
would send for Bobby ! 

That night, in a cramped little room in one of 
l 99 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


the mill boarding-houses, a square- jawed, gray- 
eyed young man received a note that sent the 
blood in a tide of red to his face, and made 
his hands shake until the paper in his long, 
sinewy fingers fluttered like an aspen leaf in 
a breeze. Yet the note was very simple. It 
read : 

“ Will you come, please, to see me to-morrow 
night ? I want to ask some questions about the 
children at the mills.” 

And it was signed, “ Margaret Kendall.” 


200 


CHAPTER XXVII 


W ITH a relief which she did not attempt 
to hide from herself, Margaret saw the 
male members of the family at Hilcrest 
leave early the next morning on a trip from which 
they could not return until the next day ; and 
with a reluctance which she could not hide from 
either herself or Mrs. Merideth, she said that 
afternoon : 

“ Mr. McGinnis is coming to see me this even- 
ing, Aunt Della. I sent for him. You know I 
am interested in the children at the mills, and I 
wanted to ask him some questions.” 

Mrs. Merideth was dumb with dismay. For 
some days Margaret’s apparent inactivity had 
lulled her into a feeling of security. And now, 
with her brothers away, the blow which they had 
so dreaded for weeks had fallen — McGinnis was 
coming. Summoning all her strength, Mrs. 
Merideth finally managed to murmur a faint 
remonstrance that Margaret should trouble her- 


201 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


self over a matter that could not be helped ; then 
with an earnest request that Margaret should not 
commit herself to any foolish promises, she fled 
to her own room, fearful lest, in her perturbation, 
she should say something which she would after- 
ward regret. 

When Miss Kendall came down-stairs at eight 
o’clock that night she found waiting for her in 
the drawing-room — into which McGinnis had 
been shown by her express orders — a young man 
whose dress, attitude, and expression radiated im- 
personality and business, in spite of his sumptuous 
surroundings. 

In directing that the young man should be 
shown into the drawing-room instead of into the 
more informal library or living-room, Margaret 
had vaguely intended to convey to him the im- 
pression that he was a highly-prized friend, and 
as such was entitled to all honor ; but she had 
scarcely looked into the cold gray eyes, or 
touched the half-reluctantly extended fingers 
before she knew that all such efforts had been 
without avail. The young man had not come 
to pay a visit : he was an employee who had 
obeyed the command of one in authority. 


202 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


McGinnis stood just inside the door, hat in 
hand. His face was white, and his jaw stern-set. 
His manner was quiet, and his voice when he 
spoke was steady. There was nothing about him 
to tell the girl — who was vainly trying to thaw 
the stiff frigidity of his reserve — that he had spent 
all day and half the night in lashing himself into 
just this manner that so displeased her. 

“ You sent for me?” he asked quietly. 

“Yes,” smiled the girl. “And doesn’t your 
conscience prick you, sir, because I had to send 
for you, when you should have come long ago of 
your own accord to see me?” she demanded play- 
fully, motioning him to a seat. Then, before he 
could reply, she went on hurriedly : “ I wanted 

to see you very much. By something that Mr. 
Spencer said the other evening I suspected that 
you were interested in the children who work 
in the mills — particularly interested. And — you 
are?” 

“Yes, much interested.” 

“And you know them — lots of them? You 
know their parents, and how they live ? ” 

“Yes, I know them well — too well.” He added 
the last softly, almost involuntarily. 

203 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


The girl heard, and threw a quick look of 
sympathy into his eyes. 

“Good! You are just the one I want, then,” 
she cried. “ And you will help me ; won’t 
you?” 

McGinnis hesitated. An eager light had leaped 
to his eyes. For a moment he dared not speak 
lest his voice break through the lines of stern con- 
trol he had set for it. 

“ I shall be glad to give you any help I can,” 
he said at last, steadily ; “ but Mr. Spencer, of 

course, knows ” he paused, leaving his sentence 

unfinished. 

“ But that is exactly it,” interposed Margaret, 
earnestly. “ Mr. Spencer does not know — at 
least, he does not know personally about the mill 
people, I mean. He told me long ago that you 
stood between him and them, and had for a long 
time. It is you who must tell me.” 

“Very well, I will do my best. Just what — do 
you want to know ? ” 

“ Everything. And I want not only to be told, 
but to see for myself. I want you to take me 
through the mills, and afterward I want to visit 
some of the houses where the children live.” 


204 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ Miss Kendall ! ” The distressed consternation 
in the man's voice was unmistakable. 

“ Is it so bad as that ? ” questioned the girl. 
“You don’t want me to see all these things ? All 
the more reason why I should, then ! If con- 
ditions are bad, help is needed ; but before help 
can be effectual, or even given at all, the condi- 
tions must be understood. That is what I mean 
to do — understand the conditions. How many 
children are there employed in the mills, please ? ” 

McGinnis hesitated. 

“ Well, there are some — hundreds,” he acknowl- 
edged. “ Of course many of them are twelve and 
fourteen and fifteen, and that is bad enough ; but 
there are others younger. You see the age limit 
of this state is lower than some. Many parents 
bring their children here to live, so that they 
can put them into the mills.” 

Margaret shuddered. 

“ Then it is true, as Patty said. There are chil- 
dren there nine and ten years old ! ” 

“Yes, even younger than that, I fear. Only 
last week I turned away a man who brought a 
puny little thing with a request for work. He 
swore she was twelve. I’d hate to tell you how 
205 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


old — or rather, how young, she really looked. I 
sent him home with a few remarks which I hope 
he will remember. She was only one, however, 
out of many. I am not always able to do what I 
would like to do in such cases — I am not the only 
man at the mills. You must realize that.” 

“Yes, I realize it, and I understand why you 
can’t always do what you wish. But just suppose 
you tell me now some of the things you would 
like to do — if you could.” And she smiled en- 
couragement straight into his eyes until in spite 
of his stern resolve he forgot himself and his sur- 
roundings, and began to talk. 

Robert McGinnis was no silver-tongued orator, 
but he knew his subject, and his heart was in it. 
For long months he had been battling alone 
against the evils that had little by little filled his 
soul with horror. Accustomed heretofore only to 
rebuffs and angry denunciations of his “ officious 
meddling,” he now suddenly found a tenderly 
sympathetic ear eagerly awaiting his story, and a 
pair of luminous blue eyes already glistening with 
unshed tears. 

No wonder McGinnis talked, and talked well. 
He seemed to be speaking to the Maggie of long 
206 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


ago — the little girl who stood ready and anxious 
to “ divvy up ” with all the world. Then sud- 
denly his eyes fell on the rich folds of the girl’s 
dress, and on the velvety pile of the rug beneath 
her feet. 

“ I have said too much,” he broke off sharply, 
springing to his feet. “ I forgot myself.” 

‘‘On the contrary you have not said half 
enough,” declared the girl, rising too ; “ and I 
mean to go over the mills at once, if you’ll be 
so good as to take me. I’ll let you know when. 
And come to see me again, please — without being 
sent for,” she suggested merrily, adding with a 
pretty touch of earnestness : “We are a com- 
mittee of two; and to do good work the com- 
mittee must meet 1 ” 

McGinnis never knew exactly how he got home 
that night. The earth was beneath him, but he 
did not seem to touch it. The sky was above 
him — he was nearer that. But, in spite of this 
nearness, the stars seemed dim — he was thinking 
of the light in a pair of glorious blue eyes. 

McGinnis told himself that it was because of 
his mill people — this elation that possessed him. 
He was grateful that they had found a friend. He 
207 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


did not ask himself later whether it was also be- 
cause of his mill people that he sat up until far 
into the morning, with his eyes dreamily fixed on 
the note in his hand signed, “ Margaret Kendall.’* 


208 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


F RANK SPENCER found the mental atmos- 
phere of Hilcrest in confusion when he 
returned from his two days’ trip. Mar- 
garet had repeated to Mrs. Merideth the substance 
of what McGinnis had told her, drawing a vivid 
picture of the little children wearing out their 
lives in plain sight of the windows of Hilcrest. 
Mrs. Merideth had been shocked and dismayed, 
though she hardly knew which she deplored the 
more — that such conditions existed, or that Mar- 
garet should know of them. At Margaret’s 
avowed determination to go over the mills, and 
into the operatives’ houses, she lifted her hands 
in horrified protest, and begged her to report the 
matter to the Woman’s Guild, and leave the 
whole thing in charge of the committee. 

“ But don’t you see that they can’t reach the 
seat of the trouble?” Margaret had objected. 
“Why, even that money which I intended for 
little Maggie went into a general fund, and 
209 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


never reached its specified destination." And 
Mrs. Merideth could only sigh and murmur : 

“ But, my dear, it’s so unnecessary and so 
dreadful for you to mix yourself up personally 
with such people ! " 

When her brother came home, Mrs. Merideth 
went to him. Frank was a man : surely Frank 
could do something ! But Frank merely grew 
white and stern, and went off into his own den, 
shutting himself up away from everybody. The 
next morning, after a fifteen minute talk with 
Margaret, he sought his sister. His face was 
drawn into deep lines, and his eyes looked as if 
he had not slept. 

“ Say no more to Margaret," he entreated. 
“ It is useless. She is her own mistress, of course, 
in spite of her insistence that I am still her 
guardian ; and she must be allowed to do as 
she likes in this matter. Make her home here 
happy, and do not trouble her. We must not 
make her quite — hate us ! " His voice broke 
over the last two words, and he was gone before 
Mrs. Merideth could make any reply. 

Some twenty-four hours later, young McGinnis 
at the mills was summoned to the telephone. 


210 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ If you are not too busy,” called a voice that 
sent a quick throb of joy to the young man’s 
pulse, “ the other half of the committee would 
like to begin work. May she come down to the 
mills this afternoon at three o’clock ? ” 

“ By all means ! ” cried McGinnis. “ Come.” 
He tried to say more, but while he was searching 
for just the right words, the voice murmured, 
“ Thank you ” ; and then came the click of the re- 
ceiver against the hook at the other end of the line. 

The clock had not struck three that afternoon 
when Margaret was ushered into the inner office 
of Spencer & Spencer. Only Frank was there, 
for which Margaret was thankful. She avoided 
Ned these days when she could. There was still 
that haunting reproach in his eyes whenever they 
met hers. 

Frank was expecting her, and only a peculiar 
tightening of his lips betrayed his disquietude as 
he turned to his desk and pressed the button that 
would summon McGinnis to the office. 

“ Miss Kendall would like to go over one of the 
mills,” he said quietly, as the young man entered, 
in response to his ring. “ Perhaps you will be her 
escort.” 


21 I 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


Margaret gave her guardian a grateful look as 
she left the office. She thought she knew just 
how much the calm acceptance of the situation 
had cost him, and she appreciated his unflinching 
determination to give her actions the sanction of 
his apparent consent. It was for this that she gave 
him the grateful glance — but he did not see it. 
His head was turned away. 

“ And what shall I show you ? ” asked McGinnis, 
as the office door closed behind them. 

“ Everything you can,” returned Margaret ; 
“ everything ! But particularly the children.” 

From the first deafening click-clack of the 
rattling machines she drew back in consterna- 
tion. 

“ They don’t work there — the children ! ” she 
cried. 

For answer he pointed to a little girl not far 
away. She was standing on a stool, that she 
might reach her work. Her face was thin and 
drawn looking, with deep shadows under her eyes, 
and little hollows where the roses should have 
been in her cheeks. Her hair was braided and 
wound tightly about her small head, though at the 
temples and behind her ears it kinked into rebel- 


212 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


lious curls that showed what it would like to do i£ 
it had a chance. Her ragged little skirts were 
bound round and round with a stout cord so that 
the hungry jaws of the machine might not snap at 
any flying fold or tatter. She did not look up as 
Margaret paused beside her. She dared not. 
Her eyes were glued to the whizzing, whirring, 
clattering thing before her, watching for broken 
threads or loose ends, the neglect of which might 
bring down upon her head a snarling reprimand 
from “ de boss ” of her department. 

Margaret learned many things during the next 
two hours. Conversation was not easy in the 
clattering din, but some few things her guide ex- 
plained, and a word or two spoke volumes some- 
times. 

She saw what it meant to be a “ doffer,” a 
“ reeler,” a “ silk-twister.” She saw what it might 
mean if the tiny hand that thrust the empty bobbin 
over the buzzing spindle-point should slip or lose 
its skill. She saw a little maid of twelve who 
earned two whole dollars a week, and she saw a 
smaller girl of ten who, McGinnis said, was with 
her sister the only support of an invalid mother at 
home. She saw more, much more, until her mind 
213 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

refused to grasp details and the whole scene be- 
came one blurred vision of horror. 

Later, after a brief rest — she had insisted upon 
staying — she saw the “ day-shift ” swarm out into 
the chill December night, and the “ night-shift ” 
come shivering in to take their places ; and she 
grew faint and sick when she saw among them the 
scores of puny little forms with tired-looking faces 
and dragging feet. 

“And they’re only beginning ! ” she moaned, as 
McGinnis hurried her away. “ And they’ve got to 
work all night — all night 1 ” 


214 


CHAPTER XXIX 


M ARGARET did not sleep well in her 
lavender-scented sheets that night. Al- 
ways she heard the roar and the click- 
clack of the mills, and everywhere she saw the 
weary little workers with their closely-bound skirts, 
and their strained, anxious faces. 

She came down to breakfast with dark circles 
under her eyes, and she ate almost nothing, to the 
great, though silent, distress of the family. 

The Spencers were alone now. There would 
be no more guests for a week, then would come 
a merry half-dozen for the Christmas holidays. 
New Year’s was the signal for a general break- 
ing up. The family seldom stayed at Hilcrest 
long after that, though the house was not quite 
closed, being always in readiness for the brothers 
when either one or both came down for a week’s 
business. 

It was always more or less of a debatable ques- 
tion — just where the family should go. There 
was the town house in New York, frequently 
215 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


opened for a month or two of gaiety ; and there 
were the allurements of some Southern resort, or 
of a trip abroad, to be considered. Sometimes it 
was merely a succession of visits that occupied 
the first few weeks after New Year’s, particularly 
for Mrs. Merideth and Ned ; and sometimes it was 
only a quiet rest under some sunny sky entirely 
away from Society with a capital S. The time 
was drawing near now for the annual change, and 
the family were discussing the various possibilities 
when Margaret came into the breakfast-room. 
They appealed to her at once, and asked her 
opinion and advice — but without avail. There 
seemed to be not one plan that interested her to 
the point of possessing either merits or de- 
merits. 

“ I am going down to Patty’s,” she said, a little 
hurriedly, to Mrs. Merideth, when breakfast was 
over. “ I got some names and addresses of the 
mill children yesterday from Mr. McGinnis; and 
I shall ask Patty to go with me to see them. I 
want to talk with the parents.” 

“ But, my dear, you don’t know what you are 
doing,” protested Mrs. Merideth. “ They are so 
rough-— those people. Miss Alby, our visiting 
216 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


home missionary, told me only last week how 
dreadful they were — so rude and intemperate and 
— and ill-odored. She has been among them. 
She knows.” 

“Yes; but don’t you see? — those are the very 
people that need help, then,” returned Margaret, 
wearily. “ They don’t know what they are doing 
to their little children, and I must tell them. I 
must tell them. I shall have Patty with me. 
Don’t worry.” And Mrs. Merideth could only 
sigh and sigh again, and hurry away up-stairs to 
devise an altogether more delightful plan for the 
winter months than any that had yet been pro- 
posed — a plan so overwhelmingly delightful that 
Margaret could not help being interested. Of 
one thing, however, Mrs. Merideth was certain — 
if there was a place distant enough to silence the 
roar of the mills in Margaret’s ears, that place 
should be chosen if it were Egypt itself. 

Patty Durgin hesitated visibly when Margaret 
told her what she wanted to do, until Margaret 
exclaimed in surprise, and with a little reproach 
in her voice : 

“ Why, Patty, don’t you want to help me? ” 

“ Yes, yes ; you don’t understand,” protested 
217 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


Patty. “It ain’t that. I want ter do it all. If 
you have money for ’em, let me give it to ’em.” 

Margaret was silent. Her eyes were still hurt, 
still rebellious. 

“ I — I don’t want you ter see them,” stammered 
Patty, then. “I don’t want you ter feel so — so 
bad.” 

Margaret’s face cleared. 

“Oh, but I’m feeling bad now,” she asserted 
cheerily ; “ and after I see them I’ll feel better. I 
want to talk to them ; don’t you see ? They don’t 
realize what they are doing to their children to let 
them work so, and I am going to tell them.” 

Patty sighed. 

“Ye don’t understand,”' she began, then 
stopped, her eyes on the determined young face 
opposite. “All right, I’ll go,” she finished, but 
she shivered a little as she spoke. 

And they did go, not only on that day, but on 
the next and the next. Margaret almost forgot 
the mills, so filled was her vision with drunken 
men, untidy women, wretched babies, and cheer- 
less homes. 

Sometimes her presence and her questions were 
resented, and always they were looked upon with 
218 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


distrust. Her money, if she gave that, was wel- 
come, usually ; but her remonstrances and her 
warnings fell upon deaf, if not angry, ears. And 
then Margaret perceived why Patty had said she 
did not understand — there was no such thing as 
making a successful appeal to the parents. She 
might have spared herself the effort. 

Sometimes she did not understand the words 
of the dark-browed men and the slovenly women 
— there were many nationalities among the opera- 
tives — but always she understood their black 
looks and their almost threatening gestures. Oc- 
casionally, to be sure, she found a sick woman or 
a discouraged man who welcomed her warmly, 
and who listened to her and agreed with what she 
had to say ; but with them there w r as always the 
excuse of poverty — though their Sue and Bess 
and Teddy might not earn but twenty, thirty, 
forty cents a day ; yet that twenty, thirty, and 
forty cents would buy meat and bread, and meant 
all the difference between a full and an empty 
stomach, perhaps, for every member of the family, 
at times. 

Margaret did what she could. She spent her 
time and her money without stint, and went from 
219 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


house to house untiringly. She summoned young 
McGinnis to her aid, and arranged for a monster 
Christmas tree to be placed in the largest hall in 
town ; and she herself ordered the books, toys, 
candies, and games for it, besides the candles 
and tinsel stars to make it a vision of delight to 
the weary little eyes all unaccustomed to such 
glory. And yet, to Margaret it seemed that 
nothing that she did counted in the least against 
the much there was to be done. It was as if a 
child with a teaspoon and a bowl of sand were 
set to filling up a big chasm : her spoonful of 
sand had not even struck bottom in that pit of 
horror ! 


220 


CHAPTER XXX 


T HE house-party at Hilcrest was not an 
entire success that Christmas. Even 
the guests felt a subtle something in 
the air that was not conducive to ease ; while 
Mrs. Merideth and her brothers were plainly 
fighting a losing contest against a restlessness 
that sent a haunting fear to their eyes. 

Margaret, though scrupulously careful to show 
every attention to the guests that courtesy de- 
manded, was strangely quiet, and not at all like 
the merry, high-spirited girl that most of them 
knew. Brandon, who was again at the house, 
sought her out one day, and said low in her ear : 

“If it were June and not December, and if we 
were out in the auto instead of here by the fire, 
I’m wondering ; would I need to — watch out for 
those brakes ? ” 

The girl winced. 

“ No, no,” she cried ; “ never ! I think I should 
simply crawl for fear that under the wheels some- 
where would be a child, a dog, a chicken, or 


221 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


even a helpless worm — something that moved 
and that I might hurt. There is already so much 
— suffering ! ” 

Brandon laughed uneasily and drew back, a 
puzzled frown on his face. He had not meant 
that she should take his jest so seriously. 

It was on the day after New Year’s, when all 
the guests had gone, that Margaret once more 
said to her guardian that she wished to speak 
to him, and on business. Frank Spencer told 
himself that he was used to this sort of thing 
now, and that he was resigned to the inevitable ; 
but his eyes were troubled, and his lips were 
close-shut as he motioned the girl to precede him 
into the den. 

“ I thought I ought to tell you,” she began, 
plunging into her subject with an abruptness 
that betrayed her nervousness, “ I thought I 
ought to tell you at once that I — I cannot go 
with you when you all go away next week.” 

“ You cannot go with us ! ” 

“No. I must stay here.” 

“ Here ! Why, Margaret, child, that is im- 
possible ! — here in this great house with only the 
servants ? ” 


222 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ No, no, you don’t understand ; not here at 
Hilcrest. I shall be down in the town — with 
Patty.” 

“ Margaret ! ” The man was too dismayed to 
say more. 

“ I know, it seems strange to you, of course,” 
rejoined the girl, hastily ; “ but you will see — 
you will understand when I explain. I have 
thought of it in all its bearings, and it is the 
only way. I could not go with you and sing 
and laugh and dance, and all the while remember 
that my people back here were suffering.” 

“ Your people ! Dear child, they are not your 
people nor my people ; they are their own people. 
They come and go as they like. If not in my 
mills, they work in some other man’s mills. You 
are not responsible for their welfare. Besides, 
you have already done more for their comfort 
and happiness than any human being could ex- 
pect of you ! ” 

“ I know, but you do not understand. It is in a 
peculiar way that they are my people — not be- 
cause they are here, but because they are poor 
and unhappy.” Margaret hesitated, and then 
went on, her eyes turned away from her guardian’s 
223 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


face. “ I don’t know as I can make you under- 
stand — as I do. There are people, lots of them, 
who are generous and kind to the poor. But they 
are on one side of the line, and the poor are on 
the other. They merely pass things over the line 
— they never go themselves. And that is all 
right. They could not cross the line if they 
wanted to, perhaps. They would not know how. 
All their lives they have been surrounded with 
tender care and luxury ; they do not know what 
it means to be hungry and cold and homeless. 
They do not know what it means to fight the 
world alone with only empty hands.” 

Margaret paused, her eyes still averted ; then 
suddenly she turned and faced the man sitting in 
silent dismay at the desk. 

“ Don’t you see?” she cried. “I have crossed 
the line. I crossed it long ago when I was a little 
girl. I do know what it means to be hungry and 
cold and homeless. I do know what it means to 
fight the world with only two small empty hands. 
In doing for these people I am doing for my own. 
They are my people.” 

For a moment there was silence in the little 
room. To the man at the desk the bottom seemed 
224 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


suddenly to have dropped out of his world. For 
some time it had been growing on him — the 
knowledge of how much the presence of this fair- 
haired, winsome girl meant to him. It came to 
him now with the staggering force of a blow in 
the face — and she was going away. To Frank 
Spencer the days suddenly stretched ahead in 
empty uselessness — there seemed to be nothing 
left worth while. 

“ But, my dear Margaret,” he said at last, un- 
steadily, “ we tried — we all tried to make you for- 
get those terrible days. You were so keenly sen- 
sitive — they weighed too heavily on your heart. 
You — you were morbid, my dear.” 

“ I know,” she said. “ I understand better now. 
Every one tried to interest me, to amuse me, to 
make me forget. I was kept from everything un- 
pleasant, and from everybody that suffered. It 
comes to me very vividly now, how careful every 
one was that I should know of only happiness.” 

“We wanted you to forget.” 

“ But I never did forget — quite. Even when 
years and years had passed, and I could go every- 
where and see all the beautiful things and places I 
had read about, and when I was with my friends, 
225 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


there was always something, somewhere, behind 
things. Those four years in New York were vague 
and elusive, as time passed. They seemed like a 
dream, or like a life that some one else had lived. 
But I know now ; they were not a dream, and they 
were not a life that some one else lived. They 
were my life. I lived them myself. Don’t you 
see — now ? ” Margaret’s eyes were luminous with 
feeling. Her lips trembled ; but her face glowed 
with a strange exaltation of happiness. 

“ But what — do you mean — to do ? ” faltered 
the man. 

Margaret flushed and leaned forward eagerly. 

“ I am going to do all that I can, and I hope it 
will be a great deal. I am going down there to 
live.” 

“ To live — not to live, child I ” 

“ Yes. Oh, I blown ow,” she went on hurriedly. 

“ I have been among them. Some are wicked and 
some are thoughtless, but all of them need teach- 
ing. I am going to live there among them, to 
show them the better way.” 

The man at the desk left his chair abruptly. He 
walked over to the window and looked out. The ^ 
moon shone clear and bright in the sky. Down 
226 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


in the valley the countless gleaming windows and 
the tall black chimneys showed where the mill- 
workers still toiled — those mill-workers whom the 
man had come almost to hate : it was because of 
them that Margaret was going ! He turned slowly 
and walked back to the girl. 

“ Margaret,” he began in a voice that shook a 
little, “ I had not thought to speak of this — at 
least, not now. Perhaps it would be better if I 
never spoke of it ; but I am almost forced to say 
it now. I can’t let you go like this, and not 
— know. I must make one effort to keep you. 
. . . If you knew that there was some one here 

who loved you — who loved you with the whole 
strength of his being, and if you knew that to him 
your going meant everything that was loneliness 
and grief, would you — could you — stay ? ” 

Margaret started. She would not look into the 
eyes that were so earnestly seeking hers. It was 
of Ned, of course, that he was speaking. Of that 
she was sure. In some way he had discovered 
Ned’s feeling for her, had perhaps even been 
asked to plead his cause with her. 

X “ Did you ever think,” began Spencer again, 
softly, “ did you ever think that if you did stay, 
227 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


you might find even here some one to whom you 
could show — the better way ? That even here 
you might do all these things you long to do, 
and with some one close by your side to help 
you ? ” 

Margaret thought of Ned, of his impulsiveness, 
his light-heartedness, his utter want of sympathy 
with everything she had been doing the last few 
weeks ; and involuntarily she shuddered. Spencer 
saw the sensitive quiver and drew back, touched 
to the quick. Margaret struggled to her feet. 

“ No, no,” she cried, still refusing to meet his 
eyes. “ I — I cannot stay. I am sorry, believe 
me, to give you pain ; but I — I cannot stay ! ” 
And she hurried from the room. 

The man dropped back in his chair, his face 
white. 

“She does not love me, and no wonder,” he 
sighed bitterly ; and he went over word by word 
what had been said, though even then he did not 
find syllable or gesture that told him the truth — 
that she supposed him merely to be playing John 
Alden to his brother’s Miles Standish. 


228 


CHAPTER XXXI 


T HE household at Hilcrest did not break 
up as early as usual that year. A few 
days were consumed in horrified re- 
monstrances and tearful pleadings on the part of 
Mrs. Merideth and Ned when Margaret’s plans 
became known. Then several more days were 
needed for necessary arrangements when the 
stoical calm of despair had brought something 
like peace to the family. 

“ It is not so dreadful at all,” Margaret had as- 
sured them. “I have taken a large house not far 
from the mills, and I am having it papered and 
painted and put into very comfortable shape. 
Patty and her family will live with me, and we 
are going to open classes in simple little things 
that will help toward better living.” 

“ But that is regular settlement work,” sighed 
Mrs. Merideth. 

“Is it?” smiled Margaret, a little wearily. 
“ Well, perhaps it is. Anyway, I hope that just 
the presence of one clean, beautiful home among 
229 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


them will do some good. I mean to try it, at all 
events.” 

“ But are you going to do nothing but that all 
the time — just teach those dreadful creatures, and 
— and live there ? ” 

“ Certainly not,” declared Margaret, with a 
bright smile. “ I’ve planned a trip to New 
York.” 

“To New York?” Mrs. Merideth sat up sud- 
denly, her face alight. “ Oh, that will be fine — 
lovely! Why didn’t you tell us? Poor dear, 
you’ll need a rest all right, I’m thinking, and we’ll 
keep you just as long as we can, too.” With 
lightning rapidity Mrs. Merideth had changed 
their plans — in her mind. They would go to 
New York, not Egypt. Egypt had seemed 
desirable, but if Margaret was going to New 
York, that altered the case. 

“ Oh, but I thought you weren’t going to New 
York,” laughed Margaret. “ Besides — I’m going 
with Patty.” 

“ With Patty ! ” If it had not been tragical 
it would have been comical — Mrs. Merideth’s 
shocked recoil at the girl’s words. 

“Yes. After we get everything nicely to run- 
230 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


ning — we shall have teachers to help us, you 
know — Patty and I are going to New York to see 
if we can’t find her sisters, Arabella and Clara- 
bella.” 

“What absurd names!” Mrs. Merideth spoke 
sharply. In reality she had no interest whether 
they were, or were not absurd ; but they chanced 
at the moment to be a convenient scapegoat for 
her anger and discomfiture. 

“Patty doesn’t think them absurd,” laughed 
Margaret. “ She would tell you that she named 
them herself out of a ‘ piece of a book ’ she found 
in the ash barrel long ago when they were chil- 
dren. You should hear Patty say it really to ap- 
preciate it. She used to preface it by some such 
remark as : ‘ Names ain’t like measles an’ rela- 

tions, ye know. Ye don’t have ter have ’em if ye 
don’t want ’em — you can change ’em.’ ” 

“ Ugh ! ” shuddered Mrs. Merideth. “ Margaret, 
how can you — laugh ! ” 

“ Why, it’s funny, I think,” laughed Margaret 
again, as she turned away. 

Even the most urgent entreaties on the part of 
Margaret failed to start the Spencers on their trip, 
and not until she finally threatened to make the 


231 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


first move herself and go down to the town, did 
they consent to go. 

“But that absurd house of yours isn't ready 
yet,” protested Mrs. Merideth. 

“ I know, but I shall stay with Patty until it is,” 
returned Margaret. “ I would rather wait until 
you go, as you seem so worried about the ‘ break/ 
as you insist upon calling it ; but if you won’t, why 
I must, that is all. I must be there to superintend 
matters.” 

“ Then I suppose I shall have to go,” moaned 
Mrs. Merideth, “ for I simply will not have you 
leave us here and go down there to live ; and I 
shall tell everybody, everybody ,” she added firmly, 
“ that it is merely for this winter, and that we al- 
lowed you to do it only on that one condition.” 

Margaret smiled, but she made no comment — it 
was enough to fight present battles without trying 
to win future ones. 

On the day the rest of the family left Hilcrest, 
Margaret moved to Patty’s little house on the Hill 
road. Her tiny room up under the eaves looked 
woefully small and inconvenient to eyes that were 
accustomed to luxurious Hilcrest ; and the supper 
— which to Patty was sumptuous in the extrava- 
232 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


gance she had allowed herself in her visitor’s 
honor — did not tempt her appetite in the least. 
She told herself, however, that all this was well 
and good ; and she ate the supper and laid herself 
down upon the hard bed with an exaltation that 
rendered her oblivious to taste and feeling. 

In due time the Mill House, as Margaret called 
her new home, was ready for occupancy, and the 
family moved in. Naming the place had given 
Margaret no little food for thought. 

“ I want something simple and plain,” she had 
said to Patty ; “ something that the people will 
like, and feel an interest in. But I don’t want any 
‘ Refuges ’ or ‘ Havens ’ or ‘ Rests ’ or ‘ Homes ’ 
about it. It is a home, but not the kind that begins 
with a capital letter. It is just one of the mill 
houses.” 

“ Well, why don’t ye call it the ‘ Mill House,’ 
then, an’ done with it?” demanded Patty. 

“ Patty, you’re a genius ! I will,” cried 
Margaret. And the “ Mill House ” it was from 
that day. 

Margaret’s task was not an easy one. Both she 
and her house were looked upon with suspicion, 
and she had some trouble in finding the two or three 


233 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


teachers of just the right sort to help her. Even 
when she had found these teachers and opened 
her classes in sewing, cooking, and the care of 
children, only a few enrolled themselves as pupils. 

“ Never mind,” said Margaret, “ we shall grow. 
You’ll see ! ” 

The mill people, however, were not the only 
ones that learned something during the next few 
months. Margaret herself learned much. She 
learned that while there were men who purposely 
idled their time away and drank up their children’s 
hard-earned wages, there were others who tramped 
the streets in vain in search of work. 

“ I hain’t got nothin’ ter do yit, Miss,” one such 
said to Margaret, in answer to her sympathetic in- 
quiries. “ But thar ain’t a boss but what said if 
I’d got kids I might send them along. They was 
short o’ kids. I been tryin’ ter keep Rosy an’ 
Katy ter school. I was cal’latin’ ter make some- 
thin’ of ’em more’n their dad an’ their mammy is : 
but I reckon as how I’ll have ter set ’em ter work.” 

“ Oh, but you mustn’t,” remonstrated Margaret. 
“ That would spoil everything. Don’t you see 
that you mustn’t ? They must go to school — get 
an education.” 


234 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


The man gazed at her with dull eyes. 

“ They got ter eat — first,” he said. 

“ Yes, yes, I know,” interposed Margaret, 
eagerly. “I understand all that, and Pll help 
about that part. I’ll give you money until you get 
something to do.” 

A sudden flash came into the man’s eyes. His 
shoulders straightened. 

“ Thank ye, Miss. We be n’t charity folks.” 
And he turned away. 

A week later Margaret learned that Rosy and 
Katy were out of school. When she looked them 
up she found them at work in the mills. 

This matter of the school question was a great 
puzzle to Margaret. Very early in her efforts 
she had sought out the public school-teachers, 
and asked their help and advice. She was ap- 
palled at the number of children who appeared 
scarcely to understand that there was such a 
thing as school. This state of affairs she could 
not seem to remedy, however, in spite of her 
earnest efforts. The parents, in many cases, 
were indifferent, and the children more so. Some 
of the children in the mills, indeed, were there 
solely — according to the parents’ version — be- 
235 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


cause they could not “ get on ” in school. Con- 
scious that there must be a school law, Margaret 
went vigorously to work to find and enforce it. 
Then, and not until then, did she realize the 
seriousness of even this one phase of the problem 
she had undertaken to solve. 

There were other phases, too. It was not 
always poverty, Margaret found, that was re- 
sponsible for setting the children to work. Some- 
times it was ambition. There were men who 
could not even speak the language of their 
adopted country intelligibly, yet who had ever 
before them the one end and aim — money. To 
this end and aim were sacrificed all the life and 
strength of whatever was theirs. The minute 
such a man’s boys and girls were big enough 
and tall enough to be “ sworn in ” he got the 
papers and set them to work; and never after 
that, as long as they could move one dragging 
little foot after the other, did they cease to pour 
into the hungry treasury of his hand the pitiful 
dimes and pennies that represented all they knew 
of childhood. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


T HE winter passed and the spring came. 

The Mill House, even to the most skep- 
tical observer, showed signs of being a 
success. Even already a visible influence had 
radiated from its shining windows and orderly 
yard ; and the neighboring houses, with their 
obvious attempt at “ slickin’ up,” reminded one 
of a small boy who has been told to wash his 
face, for company was coming. The classes 
boasted a larger attendance, and the stomachs 
and the babies of many a family in the town 
were feeling the beneficial results of the lessons. 

To Margaret, however, the whole thing seemed 
hopelessly small : there was so much to do, so 
little done ! She was still the little girl with the 
teaspoon and the bowl of sand ; and the chasm 
yawned as wide as ever. To tell the truth, Mar- 
garet was tired, discouraged, and homesick. For 
months her strength, time, nerves, and sympathies 
had been taxed to the utmost ; and now that there 
had come a breathing space, when the intricate 

237 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


machinery of her scheme could run for a moment 
without her hand at the throttle, she was left weak 
and nerveless. She was, in fact, perilously near a 
breakdown. 

Added to all this, she was lonely. More than 
she would own to herself she missed her friends, 
her home life at Hilcrest, and the tender care 
and sympathetic interest that had been lavished 
upon her for so many years. Here she was the 
head, the strong tower of defense, the one to 
whom everybody came with troubles, perplex- 
ities, and griefs. There was no human being to 
whom she could turn for comfort. They all 
looked to her. Even Bobby McGinnis, when she 
saw him at all — which was seldom — treated her 
with a frigid deference that was inexpressibly 
annoying to her. 

From the Spencers she heard irregularly. 
Earlier in the winter the letters had been more 
frequent : nervously anxious epistles of some 
length from Mrs. Merideth ; stilted notes, half 
protesting, half pleading, from Ned ; and short, 
but wonderfully sympathetic communications from 
Frank. Later Frank had fallen very ill with a 
fever of some sort, and Mrs. Merideth and Ned 
238 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


had written only hurried little bulletins from the 
sick-room. Then had come the good news that 
Frank was out of danger, though still far too weak 
to undertake the long journey home. Their 
letters showed unmistakably their impatience at 
the delay, and questioned her as to her health 
and welfare, but could set no date for their return. 
Frank, in particular, was disturbed, they said. 
He had not planned to leave either herself or 
the mills so long, it being his intention when he 
went away merely to take a short trip with his 
sister and brother, and then hurry back to 
America alone. As for Frank himself — he had 
not written her since his illness. 

Margaret was thinking of all this, and was 
feeling specially forlorn as she sat alone in the 
little sitting-room at the Mill House one evening 
in early April. She held a book before her, but 
she was not reading ; and she looked up at once 
when Patty entered the room. 

“ I’m sorry ter trouble ye,” began Patty, hesi- 
tatingly, “ but Bobby McGinnis is here an’ wanted 

me ter ask ye ” 

Margaret raised an imperious hand. 

“ That’s all right, Patty,” she said so sharply 
239 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


that Patty opened wide her eyes ; “ but suppose 
you just ask Bobby McGinnis to come here to me 
and ask his question direct. I will see him now.” 
And Patty, wondering vaguely what had come to 
her gentle-eyed, gentle-voiced mistress — as she 
insisted upon calling Margaret — fled precipitately. 

Two minutes later Bobby McGinnis himseM 
stood tall and straight just inside the door. 

“ You sent for me ? ” he asked. 

Margaret sprang to her feet. All the pent 
loneliness of the past weeks and months burst 
forth in a stinging whip of retort. 

“Yes, I sent for you.” She paused, but the 
man did not speak, and in a moment she went on 
hurriedly, feverishly. “ I always send for you — 
if I see you at all, and yet you know how hard 
I’m trying to help these people, and that you are 
the only one here that can help me.” 

She paused again, and again the man was silent. 

“ Don’t you know what I’m trying to do ? ” she 
asked. 

“ Yes.” The lips closed firmly over the single 
word. 

“ Didn’t I ask you to help me ? Didn’t I ap- 
point us a committee of two to do the work ? ” 


240 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


Her voice shook, and her chin trembled like that 
of a grieved child. 

“Yes.” Again that strained, almost harsh 
monosyllable. 

Margaret made an impatient gesture. 

“ Bobby McGinnis, why don’t you help me ? ” 
she demanded, tearfully. “ Why do you stand 
aloof and send to me ? Why don’t you come to 
me frankly and freely, and tell me the best way 
to deal with these people?” 

There was no answer. The man had half 
turned his face so that only his profile showed 
clean-cut and square-chinned against the close- 
shut door. 

“ Don’t you know that I am alone here — that I 
have no friends but you and Patty ? ” she went on 
tremulously. “ Do you think it kind of you to let 
me struggle along alone like this ? Sometimes it 
seems almost as if you were afraid ” 

“ I am afraid,” cut in a voice shaken with emo- 
tion. 

“ Bobby ! ” breathed Margaret in surprised dis- 
may, falling back before the fire in the eyes that 
suddenly turned and flashed straight into hers. 
“ Why, Bobby ! ” 


241 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


If the man heard, he did not heed. The bonds 
of his self-control had snapped, and the torrent of 
words came with a force that told how great had 
been the pressure. He had stepped forward as 
she fell back, and his eyes still blazed into hers. 

“ I am afraid — I’m afraid of myself,” he cried. 
“ I don’t dare to trust myself within sight of your 
dear eyes, or within touch of your dear hands — 
though all the while I’m hungry for both. Per- 
haps I do let you send for me, instead of coming 
of my own free will ; but I’m never without the 
thought of you, and the hope of catching some- 
where a glimpse of even your dress. Perhaps I 
do stand aloof ; but many’s the night I’ve walked 
the street outside, watching the light at your win- 
dow, and many’s the night I’ve not gone home 
until dawn lest some harm come to the woman I 
loved so — good God ! what am I saying ! ” he 
broke off hoarsely, dropping his face into his 
hands, and sinking into the chair behind him. 

Over by the table Margaret stood silent, mo- 
tionless, her eyes on the bowed figure of the man 
before her. Gradually her confused senses were 
coming into something like order. Slowly her 
dazed thoughts were taking shape. 

242 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


It was her own fault. She had brought this 
thing upon herself. She should have seen — have 
understood. And now she had caused all this 
sorrow to this dear friend of her childhood — 
the little boy who had befriended her when she 
was alone and hungry and lost. . . . But, 

after all, why should he not love her ? And why 
should she not — love him? He was good and 
true and noble, and for years he had loved her — 
she remembered now their childish compact, and 
she bitterly reproached herself for not thinking of 
it before — it might have saved her this. . . . 

Still, did she want to save herself this ? Was it 
not, after all, the very best thing that could have 
happened ? Where, and how could she do more 
good in the world than right here with this strong, 
loving heart to help her ? . . . She loved 

him, too — she was sure she did — though she 
had never realized it before. Doubtless that 
was half the cause of her present restlessness 
and unhappiness — she had loved him all 
the time, and did not know it ! Surely there 
was no one in the world who could so wisely 
help her in her dear work. Of course she loved 
him ! 


243 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


Very softly Margaret crossed the room and 
touched the man’s shoulder. 

“ Bobby, I did not understand — I did not know,” 
she said gently. “You won’t have to stay away 
— any more.” 

“ Won’t have to — stay — away ! ” The man was 
on his feet, incredulous wonder in his eyes. 

“ No. We — we will do it together — this work.” 

“ But you don’t mean — you can’t mean ” 

McGinnis paused, his breath suspended. 

“ But I do,” she answered, the quick red flying 
to her cheeks. Then, half laughing, half crying, 
she faltered : “ And — and I shouldn’t think you’d 

make — me ask — you / ” 

“ Margaret ! ” choked the man, as he fell on his 
knees and caught the girl’s two hands to his lips. 


244 



MARGARET CROSSED THE ROOM AND TOUCHED THE MAN’S 

SHOULDER.” 


























CHAPTER XXXIII 


N ED SPENCER returned alone to Hilcrest 
about the middle of April. In spite of 
their able corps of managers, the Spen- 
cers did not often leave the mills for so long a time 
without the occasional presence of one or the 
other of the firm, though Ned frequently declared 
that the mills were like a clock that winds itself, so 
admirably adjusted was the intricate machinery of 
their management. 

It was not without some little embarrassment 
and effort that Ned sought out the Mill House, 
immediately upon his return, and called on Mar- 
garet. 

“ I left Della and Frank to come more slowly,” 
he said, after the greetings were over. “ Frank, 
poor chap, isn’t half strong yet, but he was im- 
patient that some one should be here. For that 
matter, I found things in such fine shape that I 
told them I was going away again. We made 
245 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


more money when I wasn’t ’round than when I 
was ! ” 

Margaret smiled, but very faintly. She under- 
stood only too well that behind all this lay the 
reasons why her urgent requests and pleas re- 
garding some of the children, had been so ignored 
in the office of Spencer & Spencer during the last 
few months. She almost said as much to Ned, but 
she changed her mind and questioned him about 
Frank’s health and their trip, instead. 

The call was not an unqualified success — at least 
it was not a success so far as Margaret was con- 
cerned. The young man was plainly displeased 
with the cane-seated chair in which he sat, and 
with his hostess’s simple toilet. The reproachful 
look had gone from his eyes, it was true, but in its 
place was one of annoyed disapproval that was 
scarcely less unpleasant to encounter. There were 
long pauses in the conversation, which neither 
participant seemed able to fill. Once Margaret 
tried to tell her visitor of her work, but he 
was so clearly unsympathetic that she cut it short 
and introduced another subject. Of McGinnis she 
did not speak ; time enough for that when Frank 
Spencer should return and the engagement would 
246 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


have to be known. She did tell him, however, of 
her plans to go to New York later in search of the 
twins. 

“ I shall take Patty with me/’ she explained, 
“ and we shall make it a sort of vacation. We 
both need the change and the — well, it won’t be 
exactly a rest, perhaps.” 

“ No, I fear not,” Ned returned grimly. “ I do 
hope, Margaret, that when Della gets home you’ll 
take a real rest and change at Hilcrest. Surely by 
that time you’ll be ready to cut loose from all this 
sort of thing ! ” 

Margaret laughed merrily, though her eyes 
were wistful. 

“We’ll wait and see how rested New York 
makes me,” she said. 

“ But, Margaret, you surely are going to come 
to Hilcrest then,” appealed Ned, “ whether you 
need rest or not ! ” 

“ We’ll see, Ned, we’ll see,” was all she would 
say, but this time her voice had lost its merriment. 

Ned, though he did not know it, and though 
Margaret was loth to acknowledge it even to her- 
self, had touched upon a tender point. She did 
long for Hilcrest, its rest, its quiet, and the tender 
247 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


care that its people had always given her. She 
longed for even one day in which she would have 
no problems to solve, no misery to try to alleviate 
— one day in which she might be the old care-free 
Margaret. She reproached herself bitterly for all 
this, however, and accused herself of being false 
to her work and her dear people ; but in the next 
breath she would deny the accusation and say 
that it was only because she was worn out and 
“ dead tired.” 

“ When the people do get home,” she said to 
Bobby McGinnis one day, “ when the people do 
get home, we’ll take a rest, you and I. We’ll go 
up to Hilcrest and just play for a day or two. It 
will do us good.” 

“To Hilcrest? — I ?” cried the man. 

“Certainly; why not?” returned Margaret 
quickly, a little disturbed at the surprise in her 
lover’s voice. “ Surely you don’t think that the 
man I’m expecting to marry can stay away from 
Hilcrest ; do you ? ” 

“ N-no, of course not,” murmured McGinnis ; 
but his eyes were troubled, and Margaret noticed 
that he did not speak again for some time. 

It was this, perhaps, that set her own thoughts 
248 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


into a new channel. When, after all, had she 
thought of them before together — Bobby and 
Hilcrest? It had always been Bobby and — the 
work. 


249 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


I T was on a particularly beautiful morning in 
June that Margaret and Patty started for 
New York — so beautiful that Margaret de- 
clared it to be a good omen. 

“We’ll find them — you’ll see ! ” she cried. 

Little Maggie had been left at the Mill House 
with the teachers, and for the first time for years 
Patty found herself care-free, and at liberty to en- 
joy herself to the full. 

“ I hain’t had sech a grand time since I was a 
little girl an’ went ter Mont-Lawn,” she exulted, 
as the train bore them swiftly toward their destina- 
tion. “ Even when Sam an’ me was married we 
didn’t stop fur no play-day. We jest worked. 
An’ say, did ye see how grand Sam was doin’ 
now?” she broke off jubilantly. “He wa’n’t 
drunk once last week ! Thar couldn’t no one 
made him do it only you. Seems how I never 
could thank ye fur all you’ve done,” she added 
wistfully. 


250 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“But you do thank me, Patty, every day of 
your life,” contended Margaret, brightly. “You 
thank me by just helping me as you do at the 
Mill House.” 

“ Pooh ! As if that was anything compared ter 
what you does fur me,” scoffed Patty. “’Sides, 
don’t I git pay — money, fur bein’ matron ? ” 

In New York Margaret went immediately to a 
quiet, but conveniently located hotel, where the 
rooms she had engaged were waiting for them. 
To Patty even this unpretentious hostelry was 
palatial, as were the service and the dinner in the 
great dining-room that evening. 

“ I don’t wonder folks likes ter be rich,” she 
observed after a silent survey of the merry, 
well-dressed throng about her. “ I s’ pose mebbe 
Mis’ Magoon’d say this was worse than them 
autymobiles she hates ter see so ; an’ it don’t look 
quite — fair ; does it? I wonder now, do ye s’pose 
any one of ’em ever thought of — divvyin’ up ? ” 

A dreamy, far-away look came into the blue 
eyes opposite. 

“ Perhaps ! who knows ? ” murmured Margaret. 
“ Still, they haven’t ever — crossed the line, per- 
haps, so they don’t — know.” 

25 1 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ Huh ? ” 

Margaret smiled. 

“ Nothing, Patty. I only meant that they 
hadn’t lived in Mrs. Whalen’s kitchen and kept 
all their wealth in a tin cup.” 

“ No, they hain’t,” said Patty, her eyes on the 
sparkle of a diamond on the plump white finger 
of a woman near by. 

Margaret and Patty lost no time the next morn- 
ing in beginning their search for the twins. There 
was very little, after all, that Patty knew of her 
sisters since she had last seen them ; but that little 
was treasured and analyzed and carefully weighed. 
The twins were at the Whalens’ when last heard 
from. The Whalens, therefore, must be the first 
ones to be looked up ; and to the Whalens — as 
represented by the address in Clarabella’s last 
letter — the searchers proposed immediately to go. 

“ An’ ter think that you was bein’ looked fur 
jest like this once,” remarked Patty, as they turned 
the corner of a narrow, dingy street. 

“ Poor dear mother ! how she must have suf- 
fered,” murmured Margaret, her eyes shrinking 
from the squalor and misery all about them. “ I 
think perhaps never until now did I realize it — 
252 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


quite,” she added softly, her eyes moist with 
tears. 

“Ye see the Whalens ain’t whar they was when 
you left ’em in that nice place you got fur ’em,” 
began Patty, after a moment, consulting the paper 
in her hand. “ They couldn’t keep that, ’course ; 
but Clarabella wrote they wa’n’t more’n one or two 
blocks from the Alley.” 

“ The Alley ! Oh, how I should love to see the 
Alley ! ” cried Margaret. “ And we will, Patty ; 
we’ll go there surely before we return home. But 
first we’ll find the Whalens and the twins.” 

The Whalens and the twins, however, did not 
prove to be so easily found. They certainly were 
not at the address given in Clarabella’ s letter. 
The place was occupied by strangers — people who 
had never heard the name of Whalen. It took 
two days of time and innumerable questions to 
find anybody in the neighborhood, in fact, who 
had heard the name of Whalen ; but at last 
patience and diligence were rewarded, and early 
on the third morning Margaret and Patty started 
out to follow up a clew given them by a woman 
who had known the Whalens and who remem- 
bered them well. 


2 53 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


Even this, however, promising as it was, did not 
lead to immediate success, and it was not until the 
afternoon of the fifth day that Margaret and Patty 
toiled up four flights of stairs and found a little 
bent old woman sitting in a green satin-damask 
chair that neither Margaret nor Patty could fail 
to recognize. 

“ Do I remember ‘ Maggie ’ ? ‘ Mag of the 

Alley’ ?” quavered the old woman excitedly in 
response to Margaret’s questions. “Sure, an’ of 
course I do ! She was the tirror of the hull place 
till she was that turned about that she got ter 
be a blissed angel straight from Hiven. As if I 
could iver forgit th’ swate face of Mag of the 
Alley ! ” 

“ Oh, but you have,” laughed Margaret, “ for I 
myself am she.” 

“ Go ’way wid ye, an’ ye ain’t that now ! ” cried 
the old woman, peering over and through her 
glasses, and finally snatching them off altogether. 

“ But I am. And this is Mrs. Durgin, who used 
to be Patty Murphy. Don’t you remember Patty 
Murphy ? ” 

Mrs., Whalen fell back in her chair. 

“ Saints of Hiven, an’ is it the both of yez, all 
254 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


growed up ter be sich foine young ladies as ye 
be? Who’d ’a’ thought it !” 

“ It is, and we’ve come to you for help,” re- 
joined Margaret. “ Do you remember Patty 
Murphy’s sisters, the twins ? We are trying to 
find them, and we thought perhaps you could tell 
us where they are.” 

Mrs. Whalen shook her head. 

“ I knows ’em, but I don’t know whar they be 
now.” 

“But you did know,” interposed Patty. “You 
must 'a’ known four — five years ago, for my 
little Maggie was jest born when the twins come 
ter New York an’ found ye. They wrote how 
they was livin’ with ye.” 

The old woman nodded her head. 

“ I know,” she said, “ I know. We was livin’ 
over by the Alley. But they didn’t stay. My 
old man he died an’ we broke up. Sure, an’ I’m 
nothin’ but a wanderer on the face of the airth 
iver since, an’ I’m grown old before my time, I 
am.” 

“ But, Mrs. Whalen, just think — just remember,” 
urged Margaret. “ Where did they go ? Surely 
you can tell that.” 


255 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


Again Mrs. Whalen shook her head. 

“Mike died, an’ Tom an’ Mary, they got mar- 
ried, an’ Jamie, sure an’ he got his leg broke an’ 
they tuk him ter the horspital — bad cess to ’em ! 
An’ ’twas all that upsettin’ that I didn’t know 
nothin’ what did happen. I seen ’em — then I 
didn’t seen ’em ; an’ that’s all thar was to it. An’ 
it’s the truth I’m a-tellin’ yez.” 

It was with heavy hearts that Margaret and 
Patty left the little attic room half an hour later. 
They had no clew now upon which to work, and 
the accomplishment of their purpose seemed al- 
most impossible. 

In the little attic room behind them, however, 
they left nothing but rejoicing. Margaret’s gifts 
had been liberal, and her promises for the future 
even more than that. The little bent old woman 
could look straight ahead now to days when there 
would be no bare cupboards and empty coal 
scuttles to fill her soul with apprehension, and her 
body with discomfort. 

Back to the hotel went Margaret and Patty for a 
much-needed night’s rest, hoping that daylight 
and the morning sun would urge them to new ef- 
forts, and give them fresh courage, in spite of the 
256 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


unpromising outlook. Nor were their hopes un- 
fulfilled. The morning sun did bring fresh courage ; 
and, determined to make a fresh start, they turned 
their steps to the Alley. 

The Alley never forgot that visit, nor the days 
that immediately followed it. There were men 
and women who remembered Mag of the Alley 
and Patty Murphy ; but there were more who did 
not. There were none, however, that did not 
know who they were before the week was out, 
and that had not heard the story of Margaret’s 
own childhood’s experience in that same Alley 
years before. 

As for the Alley — it did not know itself. It 
had heard, to be sure, of Christmas. It had even 
experienced it, in a way, with tickets for a Sal- 
vation Army tree or dinner. But all this oc- 
curred in the winter when it was cold and snowy ; 
and it was spring now. It was not Christmas, of 
course ; and yet — 

The entire Alley from one end to the other was 
flooded with good things to eat, and with in- 
numerable things to wear. There was not a 
child that did not boast a new toy, nor a sick 
room that did not display fruit and flowers. 

257 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


Even the cats and the dogs stopped their fight- 
ing, and lay full-stomached and content in the 
sun. No wonder the Alley rubbed its eyes and 
failed to recognize its own face 1 

The Alley received, but did not give. Nowhere 
was there a trace of the twins ; and after a two 
weeks’ search, and a fruitless following of clews 
that were no clews at all, even Margaret was 
forced sorrowfully to acknowledge defeat. 

On the evening before the day they had set to 
go home, Patty timidly said : 

“ I hadn’t oughter ask it, after all you’ve done ; 
but do ye s’pose — could we mebbe jest — jest go 
ter Mont-Lawn fur a minute, jest ter look at it?” 

“ Mont-Lawn ? ” 

“ Yes. We was so happy thar, once,” went 
on Patty, earnestly. “You an’ me an’ the twins. 
I hain’t never forgot it, nor what they learnt me 
thar. All the good thar was in me till you come 
was from them. I thought mebbe if I could 
jest see it once ’twould make it easier ’bout the 
other — that we can’t find the twins ye know.” 

“See it? Of course we’ll see it,” cried Mar- 
garet. “ I should love to go there myself. You 
know I owe it— everything, too.” 

258 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


It was not for home, therefore, that Margaret 
and Patty left New York the next morning, but 
for Mont-Lawn. The trip to Tarrytown and 
across the Hudson was soon over, as was the 
short drive in the fresh morning air. Almost 
before the two travelers realized where they were, 
the beautiful buildings and grounds of Mont-Lawn 
appeared before their eyes. 

Margaret had only to tell that they, too, had 
once been happy little guests in the years gone 
by, to make their welcome a doubly cordial 
one ; and it was not long before they were 
wandering about the place with eyes and ears 
alert for familiar sights and sounds. 

In the big pavilion where their own hungry 
little stomachs had been filled, were now numer- 
ous other little stomachs experiencing the same 
delight ; and in the long dormitories where their 
own tired little bodies had rested were the same 
long rows of little white beds waiting for other 
weary little limbs and heads. Margaret’s eyes 
grew moist here as she thought of that dear 
mother who years before had placed over just 
such a little bed the pictured face of her lost 
little girl, and of how that same little girl had 
259 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


seen it and had thus found the dear mother arms 
waiting for her. 

It was just as Margaret and Patty turned to 
leave the grounds that they saw a young woman 
not twenty feet away, leading two small children. 
Patty gave a sudden cry. The next moment she 
bounded forward and caught the young woman 
by the shoulders. 

“ Clarabella, Clarabella — I jest know you’re 
Clarabella Murphy ! ” 

It was a joyous half-hour then, indeed — a half- 
hour of tears, laughter, questions, and ejacula- 
tions. At the end of it Margaret and Patty 
hurried away with a bit of paper on which was 
the address of a certain city missionary. 

All the way back to New York they talked it over 
— the story of the twins’ life during all those 
years ; of how after months of hardship, they 
had found the good city missionary, and of how she 
had helped them, and they had helped her, until 
now Clarabella had gone to Mont-Lawn as one 
of the caretakers for the summer, and Arabella 
had remained behind at the missionary’s home to 
help what she could in the missionary’s daily 
work. 


260 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

“ And we’ll go now and see Arabella ! ” cried 
Patty, as they stepped from the train at New 
York. “An’ ain’t it jest wonderful — wonder- 
ful ter think that we are a-goin’ ter see Ara- 
bella!” 


CHAPTER XXXV 


W HEN Margaret and Patty went home 
three days later they were accompanied 
by a beautiful girl, whose dark eyes 
carried a peculiar appeal in their velvety depths. 
Some of the passengers in the car that day won- 
dered at such an expression on the face of one so 
young and so lovely, but when the girl rose and 
moved down the aisle, they wondered no longer. 
She was lame, and in every movement her slender 
form seemed to shrink from curious eyes. 

Margaret had found her little friend far from 
strong. Arabella had been taxing her strength to 
the utmost, assisting the missionary through the 
day, and attending night school in the evening. 
She had worked and studied hard, and the strain 
was telling on her already frail constitution. All 
this Margaret saw at once and declared that Ara- 
bella must come home with them to the Mill 
House. 

“But I couldn’t,” the girl had objected. “I 
couldn’t be a burden to you and Patty.” 

262 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ Oh, but you won’t be,” Margaret had returned 
promptly. “You’re going to be a help to Patty 
and me. The Mill House needs you. The work 
is increasing, and we haven’t teachers enough.” 

“ Oh, then I’ll come,” the girl had sighed con- 
tentedly— nor did she know that before night 
Margaret had found and engaged still another 
teacher, lest Arabella, when she joined the Mill 
House family, should find too much to do. 

Almost the first piece of news that Margaret 
heard upon her return was that the family were 
back at Hilcrest, and that Mrs. Merideth had al- 
ready driven down to the Mill House three times 
in hopes to get tidings of Margaret’s coming. 
When Mrs. Merideth drove down the fourth time 
Margaret herself was there, and went back with 
her to Hilcrest. 

“ My dear child, how dreadfully you look ! ” 
Mrs. Merideth had exclaimed. “ Y ou are worn out, 
and no wonder. You must come straight home 
with me and rest.” And because Mrs. Merideth 
had been tactful enough to say “ rest ” and not 
“ stay,” Margaret had gone, willingly and thank- 
fully. She was tired, and she did need a rest : 
but she was not a little concerned to find how 
263 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


really hungry she was for the cool quiet of the 
west veranda, and how eagerly she listened to the 
low, sweet voices of her friends in pleasant chat — 
it had been so long since she had heard low sweet 
voices in pleasant chat 1 

The thin cheeks and hollow eyes of Frank 
Spencer shocked her greatly. She had not sup- 
posed a few short months could so change a 
strong man into the mere shadow of his former 
self. There was a look, too, in his eyes that 
stirred her curiously ; and, true to her usual 
sympathetic response to trouble wherever she 
found it, she set herself now to the task of driving 
that look away. To this end, in spite of her 
own weariness, she played and sang and devoted 
herself untiringly to the amusement of the man 
who was not yet strong enough to go down to 
the mills. 

It had been planned that immediately upon 
Frank Spencer’s return, McGinnis should go to 
him with the story of his love for Margaret. This 
plan was abandoned, however, when Margaret 
saw how weak and ill her guardian was. 

“ We must wait until he is better,” she said to 
Bobby when he called, as had been arranged, on 
264 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


the second evening after her arrival. “ He may 
not be quite pleased — at first, you know,” she went 
on frankly ; “ and I don’t want to cause him sor- 
row just now.” 

“Then ’twill be better if I don’t come up — 
again — just yet,” stammered Bobby, miserably, 
his longing eyes on her face. 

“ Yes. I’ll let you know when he’s well enough 
to see you,” returned Margaret ; and she smiled 
brightly. Nor did it occur to her that for a young 
woman who has but recently become engaged, 
she was accepting with extraordinary equanimity 
the fact that she should not see her lover again 
for some days. It did occur to Bobby, how- 
ever, and his eyes were troubled. They were 
still troubled as he sat up far into the night, 
thinking, in the shabby little room he called 
home. 

One by one the days passed. At Hilcrest Mar- 
garet was fast regaining her old buoyant health, 
and was beginning to talk of taking up her 
“ work ” again, much to the distress of the family. 
Frank Spencer, too, was better, though in spite of 
Margaret’s earnest efforts the curiously somber 
look was not gone from his eyes. It even seemed 
265 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


deeper and more noticeable than ever sometimes, 
Margaret thought. 

Never before had Margaret known quite so well 
the man who had so carefully guarded her since 
childhood. She suddenly began to appreciate 
what he had done for her all those years. She 
realized, too, with almost the shock of a surprise, 
how young he had been when the charge was in- 
trusted to him, and what it must have meant to a 
youth of twenty to have a strange, hysterical lit- 
tle girl ten years old thrust upon him so uncere- 
moniously. She realized it all the more fully now 
that the pleasant intercourse of the last two weeks 
had seemed to strip from him the ten years’ differ- 
ence in their ages. They were good friends, com- 
rades. Day after day they had read, and sung 
and walked together ; and she knew that he had 
exerted every effort to make her happy. 

More keenly than ever now she regretted that 
she must bring sorrow to him in acknowledging 
her engagement to Bobby. She knew very well 
that he would not approve of the marriage. Had 
he not already pleaded with her to stay there at 
Hilcrest as Ned’s wife ? And had he not always 
disapproved of her having much to say to McGin- 
266 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


nis ? It was hard, indeed, in the face of all this, 
to tell him. But it must be done. In two days 
now he was going back to the mills. There was 
really no excuse for any further delay. She must 
send for Bobby. 

There was a thunder-storm on the night Bobby 
McGinnis came to Hilcrest. The young man ar- 
rived just before the storm broke, and was ushered 
at once by Margaret herself to the little den where 
Frank Spencer sat alone. Mrs. Merideth had 
gone to bed with a headache, and Ned was out of 
town, so Margaret had the house to herself. For 
a time she wandered aimlessly about the living- 
room and the great drawing-room ; then she sat 
down in a shadowy corner which commanded a 
view of the library and of the door of the den. 
She shivered at every clap of thunder, and sent a 
furtive glance toward that close-shut door, wan- 
dering if the storm outside were typical of the one 
which even then might be breaking over Bobby’s 
head. 

It was very late when McGinnis came out of the 
den and closed the door behind him — so late that 
he could stop for only a few words with the girl 
who hurried across the room to meet him. His 
267 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


face was gray-white, and his whole appearance 
showed the strain he had been under for the last 
two hours. 

“ Mr. Spencer was very kind,” he said huskily 
in response to the question in Margaret’s eyes. 
“ At first, of course, he — but never mind that 
part. ... He has been very kind ; but I — I 
can’t tell you now — all that he said to me. Per- 
haps — some other time.” McGinnis was plainly 
very much moved. His words came brokenly and 
with long pauses. 

For some time after her lover had gone Mar- 
garet waited for Frank Spencer to come out and 
speak to her. But the door of the den remained 
fast shut, and she finally went up-stairs without 
seeing him. 

The next few days at Hilcrest were hard for all 
concerned. Before Margaret had come down 
stairs on the morning following McGinnis’s call, 
Frank Spencer had told his sister of the engage- 
ment ; and after the first shock of the news was 
over, he had said constrainedly, and with averted 
eyes : 

“ There is just one thing for us to do, Della — or 
rather, for us not to do. We must not drive Mar- 

268 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


garet away from us. She has full right to marry 
the man she loves, of course, and if — if we are too 
censorious, it will result only in our losing her al- 
together. It isn’t what we want to do, but what 
we must do. We must accept him — or lose her. 
I — I’m afraid I forgot myself at first, last night,” 
went on Frank, hurriedly, “ and said some pretty 
harsh things. I didn’t realize what I was saying 
until I saw the look on his face. McGinnis is a 
straightforward, manly young fellow — we must not 
forget that, Della.” 

“ But think of his po-position,” moaned Mrs. 
Merideth. 

Frank winced. 

“ I know,” he said. “ But we must do our best 
to remedy that. I shall advance him and increase 
his pay at once, of course, and eventually he will 
become one of the firm, if Margaret — marries 
him.” 

Mrs. Merideth burst into tears. 

“ How can you take it so calmly, Frank,” she 
sobbed. “ You don’t seem to care at all ! ” 

Frank Spencer’s lips parted, then closed again. 
Perhaps it was just as well, after all, that she should 
not know just how much he did — care. 

269 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

“ It may not be myself I'm thinking of,” he said 
at last, quietly. “ I want Margaret — happy.” 
And he turned away. 

Margaret was not happy, however, as the days 
passed. In spite of everybody’s effort to act as if 
everything was as usual, nobody succeeded in 
doing it ; and at last Margaret announced her de- 
termination to go back to the Mill House. She 
agreed, however, to call it a “ visit,” for Mrs. 
Merideth had cried tragically : 

“ But, Margaret, dear, if we are going to lose 
you altogether by and by, surely you will give us 
all your time now that you can I ” 


270 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


B OBBY MCGINNIS wondered sometimes 
that summer why he was not happier. 
Viewed from the standpoint of an out- 
sider, he surely had enough to make any man 
happy. He was young, strong, and in a position 
of trust and profit. He was, moreover, engaged 
to the girl he loved, and that girl was everything 
that was good and beautiful, and he saw her al- 
most every day. All this Bobby knew — and still 
he wondered. 

He saw a good deal of Margaret these days. 
Their engagement had come to be an accepted 
fact, and the first flurry of surprise and comment 
had passed. The Mill House, with Patty in 
charge, was steadily progressing. Margaret had 
taken up her work again with fresh zest, but, true 
to her promise to Mrs. Merideth, she spent many 
a day, and sometimes two or three days at Hil- 
crest. All this, however, did not interfere with 
Bobby’s seeing her — for he, too, went to Hil- 
271 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

crest in accordance with Margaret’s express 
wishes. 

“But, Bobby,” Margaret had said in response 
to his troubled remonstrances, “ are you not going 
to be my husband ? Of course you are ! Then 
you must come to meet my friends.” And Bobby 
went. 

Bobby McGinnis found himself in a new posi- 
tion then. He was Mr. Robert McGinnis, the 
accepted suitor of Miss Margaret Kendall, and 
as such, he was introduced to Margaret’s friends. 

It was just here, perhaps, that misery began for 
Bobby. He was not more at ease in his new, 
well-fitting evening clothes than he would have 
been in the garb of Sing Sing ; nor did he feel 
less conspicuous among the gay throng about 
Margaret’s chair than he would if he had indeed 
worn the prison stripes. 

As Bobby saw it, he was in prison, beyond the 
four walls of which lay a world he had never seen 
— a world of beautiful music and fine pictures ; a 
world of great books and famous men ; a world 
of travel, ease, and pleasure. He could but dimly 
guess the meaning of half of what was said ; and 
the conversation might as well have been con- 


272 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


ducted in a foreign language so far as there being 
any possibility of his participating in it. Big, tall, 
and silent, he stood as if apart. And because he 
was apart — he watched. 

He began to understand then, why he was un- 
happy — yet he was not watching himself, he was 
watching Margaret. She knew this world — this 
world that was outside his prison walls ; and she 
was at home in it. There was a light in her eye 
that he had never brought there, though he had 
seen it sometimes when she had been particularly 
interested in her work at the Mill House. As he 
watched her now, he caught the quick play of 
color on her cheeks, and heard the ring of en- 
thusiasm in her voice. One subject after another 
was introduced, and for each she had question, 
comment, or jest. Not once did she appeal to 
him. But why should she, he asked himself 
bitterly. They — those others near her, knew this 
world. He did not know it. 

Sometimes the mills were spoken of, and she 
was questioned about her work. Then, indeed, 
she turned to him — but he was not the only one 
to whom she turned : she turned quite as fre- 
quently to the man who was seldom far away from 

273 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


the sound of her voice when she was at Hilcrest 
— Frank Spencer. 

McGinnis had a new object for his brooding 
eyes then ; and it was not long before he saw that 
it was to this same Frank Spencer that Margaret 
turned when subjects other than the mills were 
under discussion. There seemed to be times, in- 
deed, when she apparently heard only his voice, 
and recognized only his presence, so intimate was 
the sympathy between them. McGinnis saw 
something else, too — he saw the look in Frank 
Spencer’s eyes; and after that he did not question 
again the cause of his own misery. 

Sometimes McGinnis would forget all this, or 
would call it the silly fears of a jealous man who 
sees nothing but adoration in every eye turned 
upon his love. Such times were always when 
Margaret was back at the Mill House, and when 
it seemed as if she, too, were inside his prison 
walls with him, leaving that hated, unknown world 
shut forever out. Then would come Hilcrest — 
and the reaction. 

“ She does not love me,” he would moan night 
after night as he tossed in sleepless misery. “ She 
does not love me, but she does not know it — 
274 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


yet. She is everything that is good and beauti- 
ful and kind ; but I never, never can make her 
happy. I might have known — I might have 
known 1 ” 


275 


CHAPTER XXXVII 


HE Spencers remained at Hilcrest nearly 



all summer with only a short trip or two 


on the part of Mrs. Merideth and Ned. 
The place was particularly cool and delightful in 
summer, and this season it was more so than 
usual. House-parties had always been popular 
at Hilcrest, and never more so than now. So 
popular, indeed, were they that Margaret sus- 
pected them to be sometimes merely an excuse 
to gain her own presence at Hilcrest. 

There were no guests, however, on the Monday 
night that the mills caught fire. Even Margaret 
was down at the Mill House. Mrs. Merideth, 
always a light sleeper, was roused by the first 
shrill blast of the whistle. From her bed she 
could see the lurid glow of the sky, and with a 
cry of terror she ran to the window. The next 
moment she threw a bath-robe over her shoulders 
and ran to Frank Spencer’s room across the 


hall. 


“ Frank, it’s the mills — they’re all afire ! ” she 
called frenziedly. “ Oh, Frank, it’s awful ! ” 


276 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


From behind the closed door came a sudden 
stir and the sound of bare feet striking the floor ; 
then Frank’s voice. 

“ I’ll be out at once. And, Della, see if Ned’s 
awake, and if you can call up Peters, please. We 
shall want a motor car.” 

Mrs. Merideth wrung her hands. 

“ Frank — Frank — I can’t have you go — I can’t 
have you go ! ” she moaned hysterically ; yet all 
the while she was hurrying to the telephone that 
would give the alarm and order the car that would 
take him. 

In five minutes the house was astir from end to 
end. Lights flashed here and there, and terri- 
fied voices and hurried footsteps echoed through 
the great halls. Down in the town the whistles 
were still shrieking their frenzied summons, and 
up in the sky the lurid glow of the flames was 
deepening and spreading. Then came a hurried 
word from McGinnis over the telephone. 

The fire had caught in one of the buildings 
that had been closed for repairs, which accounted 
for the great headway it had gained before it 
was discovered. There was a strong east wind, 
and the fire was rapidly spreading, and had 
277 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


already attacked the next building on the west. 
The operatives were in a panic. There was danger 
of great loss of life, and all help possible was 
needed. 

Mrs. Merideth, who heard, could only wring 
her hands and moan again : “I can’t have them 
go — I can’t have them go ! ” Yet five minutes 
later she sent them off, both Frank and Ned, 
with a fervid “God keep you” ringing in their 
ears. 

Down in the Mill House all was commotion. 
Margaret was everywhere, alert, capable, and 
untiring. 

“We can do the most good by staying right 
here and keeping the house open,” she said. 
“ We are so near that they may want to bring 
some of the children here, if there should be any 
that are hurt or overcome. At all events, we’ll 
have everything ready, and we’ll have hot coffee 
for the men.” 

Almost immediately they came — those limp, 
unconscious little forms borne in strong, tender 
arms. Some of the children had only fainted ; 
others had been crushed and bruised in the mad 
rush for safety. Before an hour had passed the 
278 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


Mill House looked like a hospital, and every 
available helper was pressed into service as a 
nurse. 

Toward morning a small boy, breathless and 
white-faced, rushed into the main hall. 

“ They’re in there — they’re in there — they hain’t 
come out yet — an’ the roof has caved in ! ” he 
panted. “ They’ll be burned up — they’ll be burned 
up!” 

Margaret sprang forward. 

“ But I thought they were all out,” she cried. 
“ We heard that every one was out. Who’s in 
there ? What do you mean ? ” 

The boy gasped for breath. 

“ The boss, Bobby McGinnis an’ Mr. Spencer 
— Mr. Frank Spencer. They went ’’ 

With a sharp cry Margaret turned and ran 
through the open door to the street, nor did she 
slacken her pace until she had reached the surg- 
ing crowds at the mills. 

From a score of trembling lips she learned the 
story, told in sobbing, broken scraps of words. 

Frank and Ned Spencer, together with McGinnis, 
had worked side by side with the firemen in clearing 
the mills of the frightened men, women, and chil- 
279 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

dren. It was not until after word came that all 
were out that Frank Spencer and McGinnis were 
reported to be still in the burning building. Five 
minutes later there came a terrific crash, and a 
roar of flames as a portion of the walls and the roof 
caved in. Since then neither one of the two men 
had been seen. 

There was more — much more : tales of brave 
rescues, and stories of children restored to frantic- 
ally outstretched arms ; but Margaret did not 
hear. With terror-glazed eyes and numbed senses 
she shrank back from the crowd, clasping and un- 
clasping her hands in helpless misery. There Ned 
found her. 

“ Margaret, you ! and here ? No, no, you must 
not. You can do no good. Let me take you 
home, do, dear,” he implored. 

Margaret shook her head. 

“ Ned, he can’t be dead — not dead ! ” she 
moaned. 

Ned’s face grew white. For an instant he was 
almost angry with the girl who had so plainly 
shown that to her there was but one man that had 
gone down into the shadow of death. Then his 
eyes softened. After all, it was natural, perhaps, 
280 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


that she should think of her lover, and of him only, 
in this first agonized moment. 

“ Margaret, dear, come home,” he pleaded. 

“ Ned, he isn’t dead — not dead,” moaned the 
girl again. “ Why don’t you tell me he isn’t 
dead?” 

Ned shuddered. His eyes turned toward the 
blackened, blazing pile before him — as if a man 
could be there, and live ! Margaret followed his 
gaze and understood. 

“ But he — he may not have gone in again, Ned. 
He may not have gone in again,” she cried fever- 
ishly. “ He — he is out here somewhere. We will 
find him. Come ! Come — we must find him ! ” 
And she tugged at his arm. 

Ned caught at the straw. 

“ No, no, not you — you could do nothing here ; 
but I’ll go,” he said. “ And I’ll promise to bring 
you the very first word that I can. Come, now 
you’ll go home, surely ! ” 

Margaret gazed about her. Everywhere were 
men, confusion, smoke and water. The fire was 
clearly under control, and the flames were fast 
hissing into silence. Over in the east the sun was 

rising. A new day had begun, a day of She 

281 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

suddenly remembered the sufferers back at the 
Mill House. She turned about sharply. 

“Yes, I’ll go,” she choked. “I’ll go back to 
the Mill House. I can do something there, and I 
can’t do anything here. But, Ned, you will bring 
me word — soon ; won’t you ? — soon ! ” And be- 
fore Ned could attempt to follow her, she had 
turned and was lost in the crowd. 


282 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 


T UESDAY was a day that was not soon 
forgotten at the mills. Scarcely waiting 
for the smoking timbers to cool, swarms 
of workmen attacked the ruins and attempted to 
clear their way to the point where Spencer and 
McGinnis had last been seen. Fortunately, that 
portion of the building had only been touched by 
the fire, and it was evident that the floors and roof 
had been carried down with the fall of those near- 
est to it. For this reason there was the more hope 
of finding the bodies unharmed by fire — perhaps, 
even, of finding a spark of life in one or both of 
them. This last hope, however, was sorrowfully 
abandoned when hour after hour passed with no 
sign of the missing men. 

All night they worked by the aid of numerous 
electric lights hastily placed to illuminate the 
scene ; and when Wednesday morning came, a 
new shift of workers took up the task that had 
come to be now merely a search for the dead. So 
convinced was every one of this that the men 
283 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


gazed with blanched faces into each other’s eyes 
when there came a distinct rapping on a project- 
ing timber near them. In the dazed silence that 
followed a faint cry came from beneath their feet. 

With a shout and a ringing cheer the men fell 
to work — it was no ghost, but a living human 
voice that had called 1 They labored more cau- 
tiously now, lest their very zeal for rescue should 
bring defeat in the shape of falling brick or timber. 

Ned Spencer, who had not left the mills all 
night, heard the cheer and hurried forward. It 
was he who, when the men paused again, called : 

“ Frank, are you there ? ” 

“Yes, Ned.” The voice was faint, but dis- 
tinctly audible. 

“And McGinnis?” 

There was a moment’s hesitation. The listen- 
ers held their breath — perhaps, after all, they had 
been dreaming and there was no voice ! Then it 
came again. 

“Yes. He’s lying beside me, but he’s uncon- 
scious — or dead.” The last word was almost in- 
audible, so faint was it ; but the tightening of 
Ned’s lips showed that he had heard it, none the 
less. In a moment he stooped again. 

284 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ Keep up your courage, old fellow ! We’ll 
have you out of that soon.” Then he stepped 
aside and gave the signal for the men to fall to 
work again. 

Rapidly, eagerly, but oh, so cautiously, they 
worked. At the next pause the voice was nearer, 
so near that they could drop through a small hole 
a rubber tube four feet long, lowering it until 
Spencer could put his mouth to it. Through this 
tube he was given a stimulant, and a cup of strong 
coffee. 

They learned then a little more of what had 
happened. The two men were on the fourth floor 
when the crash came. They had been swept 
down and had been caught between the timbers 
in such a way that as they lay w here they had 
been flung, a roof three feet above their heads 
supported the crushing weight above. Spencer 
could remember nothing after the first crash, until 
he regained consciousness long afterward, and 
heard the workmen far above him. It was then 
that he had tapped his signal on the projecting 
timber. He had tapped three times before he had 
been heard. At first it was dark, he said, and he 
could not see, but he knew that McGinnis w^as 
285 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


near him. McGinnis had spoken once, then had 
apparently dropped into unconsciousness. At all 
events he had said nothing since. Still, Spencer 
did not think he was dead. 

Once more the rescuers fell to work, and it was 
then that Ned Spencer hurried away to send a 
message of hope and comfort to Mrs. Merideth, 
who had long since left the great house on the 
hill and had come down to the Mill House to be 
with Margaret. To Margaret Ned wrote the one 
word “ Come,” and as he expected, he had not 
long to wait. 

“You have found him!” cried the girl, hurry- 
ing toward him. “ Ned, he isn’t dead ! ” 

Ned smiled and put out a steadying hand. 

“ We hope not — and we think not. But he is 
unconscious, Margaret. Don’t get your hopes 
too high. I had to send for you — I thought you 
ought to know — what we know.” 

“ But where is he ? Have you seen him? ” 

Ned shook his head. 

“ No ; but Frank says ” 

“Frank! But you said Frank was uncon- 
scious ! ” 

“ No, no — they aren’t both unconscious — it is 
286 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


only McGinnis. It is Frank who told us the story. 
He — why, Margaret ! ” But Margaret was gone ; 
and as Ned watched her flying form disappear 
toward the Mill House, he wondered if, after 
all, the last hours of horror had turned her 
brain. In no other way could he account for her 
words, and for this most extraordinary flight just 
at the critical moment when she might learn the 
best — and the worst — of what had come to her 
lover. To Ned it seemed that the girl must be 
mad. He could not know that in Margaret’s little 
room at the Mill House some minutes later, a girl 
went down on her knees and sobbed : 

“To think that ’twasn’t Bobby at all that I was 
thinking of — ’twasn’t Bobby at all ! ’Twas never 
Bobby that had my first thought. ’Twas al- 
ways ” Even to herself Margaret would not 

say the name, and only her sobs finished the 
sentence. 


287 


CHAPTER XXXIX 


R OBERT MCGINNIS was not dead when 
he was tenderly lifted from his box-like 
prison, but he was still unconscious. In 
spite of their marvelous escape from death, both 
he and his employer were suffering from breaks 
and bruises that would call for the best of care 
and nursing for weeks to come ; and it seemed 
best for all concerned that this care and nursing 
should be given at the Mill House. A removal 
to Hilcrest in their present condition would not be 
wise, the physicians said, and the little town hos- 
pital was already overflowing with patients. 
There was really no place but the Mill House, 
and to the Mill House they were carried. 

At the Mill House everything possible was done 
for their comfort. Two large airy rooms were 
given up to their use, and the entire household 
was devoted to their service. The children that 
had been brought there the night of the fire were 
gone, and there was no one with whom the two 
injured men must share the care and attention 
that were lavished upon them. Trained nurses 
288 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


were promptly sent for, and installed in their posi- 
tions. Aside from these soft-stepping, white- 
capped women, Margaret and the little lame Ara- 
bella were the most frequently seen in the sick- 
rooms. 

“ We’re the ornamental part,” Margaret would 
say brightly. “ We do the reading and the sing- 
ing and the amusing.” 

Arabella was a born nurse, so both the patients 
said. There was something peculiarly soothing 
in the soft touch of her hands and in the low tones 
of her voice. She was happy in it, too. Her eyes 
almost lost their wistful look sometimes, so ab- 
sorbed would she be in her self-appointed task. 

As for Margaret — Margaret was a born nurse, 
too, and both the patients said that ; though one 
of the patients, it is true, complained sometimes 
that she did not give him half a chance to know 
it. Margaret certainly did not divide her time 
evenly. Any one could see that. No one, how- 
ever — not even Frank Spencer himself — could 
really question the propriety of her devoting her- 
self more exclusively to young McGinnis, the man 
she had promised to marry. 

Margaret was particularly bright and cheerful 
289 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


these days; but to a close observer there was 
something a little forced about it. No one seemed 
to notice it, however, except McGinnis. He 
watched her sometimes with somber eyes ; but 
even he said nothing — until the day before he was 
to leave the Mill House. Then he spoke. 

“Margaret,” he began gently, “there is some- 
thing I want to say to you. I am going to be 
quite frank with you, and I want you to be so 
with me. Will you?” 

“Why, of — of course,” faltered Margaret, 
nervously, her eyes carefully avoiding his steady 
gaze. Then, hopefully: “But, Bobby, really I 
don’t think you should talk to-day ; not — not 
about anything that — that needs that tone of 
voice. Let’s — let’s read something ! 

Bobby shook his head decidedly. 

“ No. I’m quite strong enough to talk to-day. 
In fact, I’ve wanted to say this for some time, but 
I’ve waited until to-day so I could say it. Mar- 
garet, you — you don’t love me any longer.” 

“ Oh — Bobby ! Why, Bobby ! ” There was 
dismayed distress in Margaret’s voice. When 
one has for some weeks been trying to lash one’s 
self into a certain state of mind and heart for the 


290 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


express sake of some other one, it is distressing to 
have that other one so abruptly and so positively 
show that one's labor has been worse than useless. 

“ You do not, Margaret — you know that you do 
not.” 

“ Why, Bobby, what — what makes you say 
such a dreadful thing,” cried the girl, reaching 
blindly out for some support that would not fail. 
“As if — I didn’t know my own mind ! ” 

Bobby was silent. When he spoke again his 
voice shook a little. 

“ I will tell you what makes me say it. For 
sometime I’ve suspected it — that you did not love 
me ; but after the fire I — I knew it.” 

“ You knew it ! ” 

“Yes. When a girl loves a man, and that man 
has come back almost from the dead, she goes to 
him first — if she loves him. When Frank Spencer 
and I were brought into the hall down-stairs that 
Wednesday morning, the jar or something brought 
back my senses for a moment, just long enough 
for me to hear your cry of ‘ Frank,’ and to see you 
hurry to his side.” 

Margaret caught her breath sharply. Her face 
grew white. 


291 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“But, Bobby, you — you were unconscious, I 
supposed,” she stammered faintly. “ I didn’t 
think you could answer me if — if I did go to you.” 

“ But you did not — come — to — see.” The 
words were spoken gently, tenderly, sorrowfully. 

Margaret gave a low cry and covered her face 
with her hands. A look that was almost relief 
came to the man’s face. 

“ There,” he sighed. “ Now you admit it. We 
can talk sensibly and reasonably. Margaret, why 
have you tried to keep it up all these weeks, when 
it was just killing you ? ” 

“ I wanted to make — you — happy,” came 
miserably from behind the hands. 

“And did you think I could be made happy 
that way — by your wretchedness ? ” 

There was no answer. 

“ I’ve seen it coming for a long time,” he went 
on gently, “and I did not blame you. I could 
never have made you happy, and I knew it almost 
from the first. I wasn’t happy, either — because I 
couldn’t make you so. Perhaps now I — I shall 
be happier ; who knows ? ” he asked, with a wan 
little smile. 

Margaret sobbed. It was so like Bobby — to 
292 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

belittle his own grief, just to make it easier for 
her ! 

“You see, it was for only the work that you 
cared for me,” resumed the man after a minute. 
“You loved that, and you thought you loved me. 
But it was only the work all the time, dear. I 
understand that now. You see I watched you — 
and I watched him.” 

“ Him ! ” Margaret’s hands were down, and she 
was looking at Bobby with startled eyes. 

“Yes. I used to think he loved you even 
then, but after the fire, and I heard your cry of 
‘Frank’ ” 

Margaret sprang to her feet. 

“ Bobby, Bobby, you don’t know what you are 
saying,” she cried agitatedly. “ Mr. Spencer 
does not love me, and he never loved me. Why, 
Bobby, he couldn’t ! He even pleaded with me 
to marry another man.” 

“ He pleaded with you ! ” Bobby’s eyes were 
puzzled. 

“ Yes. Now, Bobby, surely you understand 
that he doesn’t love me. Surely you must see ! ” 

Bobby threw a quick look into the flushed, 
quivering face ; then hastily turned his eyes away. 

2 93 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“Yes, I see,” he said almost savagely. And 
he did see — more than he wanted to. But he did 
not understand : how a man could have the love 
of Margaret Kendall and not want it, was beyond 
the wildest flights of his fancy. 


294 


CHAPTER XL 


F RANK SPENCER had already left the 
Mill House and gone to Hilcrest when 
McGinnis was well enough to go back 
to his place in the mills. The mills, in spite of 
the loss of the two buildings (which were being 
rapidly rebuilt) were running full time, and needed 
him greatly, particularly as the senior member of 
the firm had not entirely regained his old health 
and strength. 

For some time after McGinnis went away, Mar- 
garet remained at the Mill House ; but she was 
restless and unhappy in the position in which she 
found herself. McGinnis taught an evening class 
at the Mill House, and she knew that it could not 
be easy for him to see her so frequently now that 
the engagement was broken. Margaret blamed 
herself bitterly, not for the broken engagement, 
but for the fact that there had ever been any en- 
gagement at all. She told herself that she ought 
to have known that the feeling she had for Bobby 
was not love — and she asked herself scornfully 
295 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


what she thought of a young woman who could 
give that love all unsought to a man who was so 
very indifferent as to beg her favor for another ! 
Those long hours of misery when the mills burned 
had opened Margaret’s eyes ; and now that her 
eyes were opened, she was frightened and 
ashamed. 

It seemed to Margaret, as she thought of it, that 
there was no way for her to turn but to leave both 
the Mill House and Hilcrest for a time. Bobby 
would be happier with her away, and the Mill 
House did not need her — Clarabella had come 
from New York, and had materially strengthened 
the teaching force. As for Hilcrest — she certainly 
would not stay at Hilcrest anyway — now. Later, 
when she had come to her senses, perhaps — but 
not now. 

It did not take much persuasion on the part of 
Margaret to convince Mrs. Merideth that a winter 
abroad would be delightful — just they two to- 
gether. The news of Margaret’s broken engage- 
ment had been received at Hilcrest with a joyous 
relief that was nevertheless carefully subdued in 
the presence of Margaret herself ; but Mrs. Meri- 
deth could not conceal her joy that she was to 
296 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


take Margaret away from the “ whole unfortunate 
affair,” as she expressed it to her brothers. Frank 
Spencer, however, was not so pleased at the pro- 
posed absence. He could see no reason for Mar- 
garet’s going, and one evening when they were 
alone together in the library he spoke of it. 

“ But, Margaret, I don’t see why you must go,” 
he protested. 

For a moment the girl was silent ; then she 
turned swiftly and faced him. 

“ Frank, Bobby McGinnis was my good friend. 
From the time when I was a tiny little girl he 
has been that. He is good and true and noble, 
but I have brought him nothing but sorrow. He 
will be happier now if I am quite out of his sight 
at present. I am going away.” 

Frank Spencer stirred uneasily. 

“ But you will be away — from him — if you are 
here,” he suggested. 

“ Oh, but if I’m here I shall be there,” con- 
tested Margaret with a haste that refused to con- 
sider logic ; then, as she saw the whimsical smile 
come into the man’s eyes, she added brokenly : 
“ Besides, I want to get away — quite away from 
my work.” 


297 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


Spencer grew sober instantly. The whimsical 
look in his eyes gave place to one of tender sym- 
pathy. 

“You poor child, of course you do, and no 
wonder! You are worn out with the strain, 
Margaret.” 

She raised a protesting hand. 

“No, no, you do not understand. I — I have 
made a failure of it.” 

“ A failure of it ! ” 

“Yes. I want to get away — to look at it from 
a distance, and see if I can’t find out what is the 
trouble with it, just as — as artists do, you know, 
when they paint a picture.” There was a fever- 
ishness in Margaret’s manner and a tremulous- 
ness in her voice that came perilously near to 
tears. 

“ But, my dear Margaret,” argued the man, 
“there’s nothing the matter with it. It’s no 
failure at all. You’ve done wonders down there 
at the Mill House.” 

Margaret shook her head slowly. 

“ It’s so little — so very little compared to what 
ought to be done,” she sighed. “ The Mill House 
is good and does good, I acknowledge ; but it’s 
293 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


so puny after all. It’s like a tiny little oasis in 
a huge desert of poverty and distress.” 

“ But what — what more could you do ? ” ven- 
tured the man. 

Margaret rose, and moved restlessly around 
the room. 

“ I don’t know,” she said at last. “ That’s 
what I mean to find out.” She stopped sud- 
denly, facing him. “ Don’t you see ? I touch 
only the surface. The great cause behind things 
I never reach. Sometimes it seems as if it were 
like that old picture — where was it? in Pilgrim’s 
Progress ? — of the fire. On one side is the man 
trying to put it out ; on the other, is the evil 
one pouring on oil. My two hands are the two 
men. With one I feed a hungry child, or nurse 
a sick woman ; with the other I make more 
children hungry and more women sick.” 

“ Margaret, are you mad ? What can you 
mean ? ” 

“ Merely this. It is very simple, after all. With 
one hand I relieve the children’s suffering ; with 
the other I take dividends from the very mills 
that make the children suffer. A long time ago 
I wanted to * divvy up ’ with Patty, and Bobby 
299 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


and the rest. I have even thought lately that 
I would still like to ‘ divvy up ’ ; and — well, you 
can see the way I am ‘ divvying up ’ now with 
my people down there at the mills ! ” And her 
voice rang with self-scorn. 

The man frowned. He, too, got to his feet 
and walked nervously up and down the room. 
When he came back the girl had sat down again. 
Her elbows were on the table, and her linked 
fingers were shielding her eyes. Involuntarily 
the man reached his hand toward the bowed 
head. But he drew it back before it had touched 
a thread of the bronze-gold hair. 

“I do see, Margaret,” he began gently, “ and 
you are right. It is at the mills themselves that 
the first start must be made — the first beginning 
of the ‘ divvying up.’ Perhaps, if there were 
some one to show us” — he paused, then went 
on unsteadily : “ I suppose it’s useless to say 
again what I said that day months ago : that if 
you stayed here, and showed him — the man who 
loves you — the better way ” 

Margaret started. She gave a nervous little 
laugh and picked up a bit of paper from the 
floor. 


3 00 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ Of course it is useless,” she retorted in what 
she hoped was a merry voice. “ And he doesn’t 
even love me now, besides.” 

“ He doesn’t love you ! ” Frank Spencer’s eyes 
and voice were amazed. 

“ Of course not ! He never did, for that mat- 
ter. ’Twas only the fancy of a moment. Why, 
Frank, Ned never cared for me — that way ! ” 

“Ned!” The tone and the one word were 
enough. For one moment Margaret gazed into 
the man’s face with startled eyes ; then she turned 
and covered her own telltale face with her hands 
— and because it was a telltale face, Spencer took 
a long stride toward her. 

“ Margaret ! And did you think it was Ned 1 
was pleading for, when all the while it was I who 
was hungering for you with a love that sent me 
across the seas to rid myself of it? Did you, 
Margaret ? ” 

There was no answer. 

“ Margaret, look at me — let me see your eyes ! ” 
There was a note of triumphant joy in his voice 
now. 

Still no answer. 

“ Margaret, it did not go — that love. It stayed 
3 01 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


with me day after day, and month after month, 
and it only grew stronger and deeper until there 
was nothing left me in all this world but you — just 
you. And now — Margaret, my Margaret,” he said 
softly and very tenderly. “You are my Mar- 
garet ! ” And his arms closed about her. 


3° 2 


CHAPTER XLI 


I N spite of protests and pleadings Margaret 
spent the winter abroad. 

“ As if I’d stay here and flaunt my happi- 
ness in poor Bobby’s face ! ” she said indignantly 
to her lover. Neither would she consent to a 
formal engagement. Even Mrs. Merideth and 
Ned were not to know. 

“It is to be just as it was before,” she had 
declared decidedly, “ only — well, you may write 
to me,” she had conceded. “ I refuse to stay 
here and — and be just happy — yet ! I’ve been 
unkind and thoughtless, and have brought sorrow 
to my dear good friend. I’m going away. I 
deserve it — and Bobby deserves it, too ! ” And in 
spite of Frank Spencer’s efforts to make her see 
matters in a different light, she still adhered to her 
purpose. . 

All through the long winter Frank contented 
himself with writing voluminous letters, and tell- 
ing her of the plans he was making to “ divvy up ” 
at the mills, as he always called it. 

3°3 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ I shall make mistakes, of course, dear,” he 
wrote. “ It is a big problem — altogether more so 
than perhaps you realize. Of course the mills 
must still be a business — not a philanthropy ; 
otherwise we should defeat our own ends. But I 
shall have your clear head and warm heart to aid 
me, and little by little we shall win success. 

“ Already I have introduced two or three small 
changes to prepare the way for the larger ones 
later on. Even Ned is getting interested, and 
seems to approve of my work, somewhat to my 
surprise, I will own. I’m thinking, however, that 
I’m not the only one in the house, sweetheart, to 
whom you and your unselfishness have shown the 
‘ better way.’ ” 

Month by month the winter passed, and 
spring came, bringing Mrs. Merideth, but no 
Margaret. 

“ She has stopped to visit friends in New York,” 
explained Mrs. Merideth, in reply to her brother’s 
anxious questions. “ She may go on west with 
them. She said she would write you.” 

Margaret did “ go on west,” and it was while she 
was still in the west that she received a letter from 
Patty, a portion of which ran thus : 

3 ° 4 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


“ Mebbe youd like to know about Bobby 
McGinnis. Bobby is goin to get married. She 
seemed to comfort him lots after you went. Shes 
that pretty and sympathizing in her ways you 
know. I think he was kind of surprised hisself, 
but the first thing he knew he was in love with 
her. I think he felt kind of bad at first on account 
of you. But I told him that was all nonsense, and 
that I knew youd want him to do it. I think his 
feelins for you was more worship than love, any- 
how. He didnt never seem happy even when he 
was engaged to you. But hes happy now, and 
Arabella thinks hes jest perfect. Oh, I told you 
twas Arabella didnt I ? Well, tis. And say its her 
thats been learnin me to spell. Aint it jest 
grand ? ” 

Not very many days later Frank Spencer at 
Hilcrest received a small card on which had been 
written : 

“ Mrs. Patty Durgin announces the engagement 
of her sister, Arabella Murphy, to Mr. Robert 
McGinnis.” 

Beneath, in very fine letters was : “ I’m com- 

ing home the eighteenth. Please tell Della ; and 
3°5 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 


— you may tell her anything else that you like. 
Margaret.” 

For a moment the man stared at the card with 
puzzled eyes ; then he suddenly understood. 

“ Della,” he cried joyously, a minute later, 
“ Della, she’s coming the eighteenth ! ” 

“ Who’s coming the eighteenth ? ” 

Frank hesitated. A light that was half seri- 
ous, half whimsical, and wholly tender, came into 
his eyes. 

“ My wife,” he said. 

“ Your wife! ” 

“Oh, you know her as Margaret Kendall,” 
retorted Frank with an airiness that was intended 
to hide the shake in his voice. “ But she will be 
my wife before she leaves here again.” 

“Frank!” cried Mrs. Merideth, joyfully, “you 

don’t mean ” But Frank was gone. Over 

his shoulder, however, he had tossed a smile and 
a reassuring nod. 

Mrs. Merideth sank back with a sigh of content. 

“ It’s exactly what I always hoped would hap- 
pen,” she said. 

THE END 


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